


Walk A Mile In My Shoes

by GiantPurpleCephalopod



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Bodyswap, Doggy Style, Explicit Coarse Language, Explicit M/M Sex, F/M, Genderswap, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex/ Fellatio, Sexual Fantasy, sexual dreams
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-03-30 05:43:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3925039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GiantPurpleCephalopod/pseuds/GiantPurpleCephalopod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Okay, well I'm not much good at summaries - but here goes:</p><p>A transporter accident leaves Kirk and Uhura stranded in each other's bodies - and misunderstandings ensue. With lots of sex, angst and heart-felt discussions, this story has something for everybody!</p><p>Currently a work in progress.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One - Our Messy Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek, or hold any rights pertaining to the characters and/or universe contained therein. I do not intend to infringe upon anyone else's rights or to cause any offence by my use of aforementioned universe and characters in this work of fan fiction.
> 
> Warning: This work contains explicit content of a homoerotic nature. If this will offend or distress you, please click the 'back' button now. As I am writing this I have only finished the first chapter, so there is not yet any heterosexual sex contained in the work - but there should eventually be as the story progresses, so, likewise, if this will distress or offend you, please click 'back'.
> 
> On a lighter note, my grammar is also suspect - you can similarly escape the horror of bad grammar by clicking the 'back' button if you believe this will offend you ;)

Captain James T. Kirk of the Starship _Enterprise_ pushed back against his First Officer, Commander Spock, panting and gasping as his body was rocked by the force of the Vulcan’s thrusts. His knees were starting to ache from the hard, gritty ground beneath them but he found he couldn’t care whilst he had Spock’s strong, bruising fingers on his hips and the enigmatic alien’s substantial erection sheathed to the hilt inside of him. He planted his forearms more firmly against the cave-floor, having to exert all of his strength to prevent himself from being forced backwards and forwards along the ground as Spock increased his pace.

One of Spock’s hands left his hip, fingertips brushing feather-light over his belly and down to his crotch, leaving a trail of tingling fire in their wake. Kirk moaned softly as the Vulcan took him in hand, knowing exactly how and where he liked to be touched most. Kirk rocked his hips, thrusting into that firm grasp - once, twice, thrice. The next moment he was slamming his hips back hard and coming with a deep, guttural groan, his suddenly boneless arms collapsing under him. Kirk crumpled to the ground, ass still held up in the air by Spock’s iron grip. Spock himself seemed to have frozen hunched over his captain, his own orgasm wracking his deceptively slender frame with fine tremors.

The Vulcan finally slumped to the side as Kirk eased himself all the way to the sandy floor. After a moment Spock curled up along his back, one long arm draped over his Captain protectively. Kirk reached up to entwine their fingers. They lay quietly together for a long time, each catching his breath as they watched the flickering play of the light from their small campfire on the stone wall.

“We need to be stranded overnight on an unexplored planet more often, Spock,” Kirk murmured, a contented smile playing on his lips. Spock pressed a gentle kiss to his captain’s neck, his fingers stroking softly over the back of Kirk’s hand. “Yes, Jim. In human vernacular, this is a most romantic setting.”

“Mmmm.” Kirk rolled over in the Vulcan’s arms. Spock shifted slightly to accommodate the movement, and Kirk reached out to run gentle fingers along his First’s face in a whisper-light caress.

“I love you,” Kirk told him softly.

Spock’s mouth opened to respond, but instead of words out came a harsh, rhythmic screeching.

Kirk’s eyes flew open.

He threw back his covers and sat up in bed, cursing his alarm clock as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, still trying to orient himself to the sudden transition from dream to reality. He peered blearily at the little red numbers on their sleek black screen beside the bed until they swam into focus.

_05:00_

“Great,” Kirk huffed to the empty room, letting himself flop back onto his pillows with a sigh. His eyes travelled down his own bare chest to where his regulation white trunks were impressively tented with morning wood, the familiar tingling thrum of arousal too insistent to ignore. At least he hadn’t come in his sleep like a teenager, though that thought gave him little comfort.

“Juuust great,” Kirk sighed again as he reached down to take himself in hand.

oOo

1 hour and 15 minutes later, showered, dressed and breakfasted, Captain Kirk stepped out of the turbolift and onto the bridge of the starship _Enterprise_. Commander Spock was waiting for him. The Vulcan stood at perfect attention, his hands clasped behind his back, the deep blue of his shirt and the inky black of his hair a stark contrast to the gleaming white wall behind him.

“Captain,” he said, inclining his head as he did every morning.

“Spock,” Kirk returned the greeting. “Morning report said something about a planet?”

“Yes, Captain. It is Class M, unexplored, and initial scans indicate no substantial bio-signs, although we are reading structures placed in numbers and density suggestive of a prior civilisation. We should arrive in orbit in approximately 0.36669 hours.”

“Oh, good,” Kirk stifled a yawn. “Want to rock, paper, scissors for who gets to lead the landing party?”

At the helm, Lt. Sulu and Ensign Chekov could be heard stifling their soft snorts.

Commander Spock raised an eyebrow genteelly, in the way Kirk normally interpreted to mean that he was politely amused. Kirk had found himself explaining the ancient Terran ritual of ‘rock, paper, scissors’ to the alien the day before, after they had witnessed two engineering ensigns battling it out over which of them got stuck with the task of cleaning the nicely muddied landing gear on one of the shuttle craft. Spock had been fascinated.

“Actually, Captain, I am overseeing an experiment in Science lab 2b which I cannot leave unattended for any great length of time. Would it be acceptable to you if I remained aboard? I have already requested that Lt. Alvarez join the landing party in my place.”

“Hey, no problem.” Kirk tried unsuccessfully to fight back another yawn. “Does anybody else want coffee? I need some more coffee.”

And so it happened that when the landing party beamed down some 45 minutes later it was comprised of Captain Kirk, Lt. Alvarez (a specialist in xeno-geophysics, as Kirk was now aware), Lt. Uhura (communications - ancient alien ruins often meant ancient alien hieroglyphs) and security ensigns Todd and Bourke (both wore the same serious, constipated expression). When they materialised on the planet the mind was immediately struck with the similarities it bore to the country of Egypt back on Earth - though there were subtle differences, of course. Great seas of glittering yellow sand stretched as far as the eye could see in any direction. Twin alien suns chased each other across a magenta sky. The beam-down site was surrounded by half-buried buildings and monuments carved of ancient, weathered stone. There was not a single living thing to be seen, save themselves and a strange sense of stillness pressed down upon them. There was no sound to be heard.

“This must have been a city,” mused Lt. Alvarez as the landing party began picking their way towards what appeared to be a partially collapsed colossus, its features heavily eroded. The tricorders in Uhura and Alvarez’s hands were whirring. “Look at the wear and tear on the stone! It must have been built tens of thousands of years ago.”

The landing party split up, Kirk and Todd following Uhura to the base of a battered stone building, Bourke trailing along after Alvarez, who had found something of interest at the edge of the ruins. Kirk leant a hand in brushing a thick coating of sand away from what were, indeed, much-faded alien hieroglyphs carved into the side of the stone wall. Uhura ran her tricorder over them, recording and comparing them to previous discoveries.

“Hmm,” she muttered to herself, entranced in her work, her fine-drawn eyebrows drawn together in concentration.

Kirk traced the pattern in the stone with his fingers, the stone already beginning to warm under the suns’ loving touch. His fingers came away coated with the yellow sandy dust, which clung to his skin even when he rubbed his fingertips together. He was opening his mouth to speak when his communicator whistled.

“Kirk here.”

The thick scottish brogue of Montgomery Scott, the Enterprise’s Chief Engineer, was choppy with static from a weak communicator signal.

“I thought ye should know, sir - scanners are picking up a sandstorm headed right for ye! An’ it’s no normal storm - we’re gettin’ all sorts o’ funny readings up here.”

Kirk licked dry lips, shading his eyes with his hand and squinting in the direction Alvarez and Bourke had taken. Now that he was looking that way he could see a sort of smudge on the horizon, far off in the distance. While he watched it seemed to grow larger and come closer, and a sudden spear of lightning crackled across its surface.

“Shit,” Kirk muttered. “How come the scanners didn’t pick that up before we beamed down?” He tried to get Alvarez, then Bourke, on communicator, but all he could hear was staticy fizzing and popping. “Shit!” he swore again. To Todd he inclined his head in the direction Bourke and Alvarez had taken. “Quick, run and get the others. Tell them to beam up immediately.”

“Yessir!” Todd jogged off, eyeing the approaching storm with ill-concealed concern.

“Scotty?” The communicator crackled. “Scotty, can you hear me? Beam up Todd, Alvarez and Bourke first - they’re closer to the storm front than we are.”

A faint, distorted “Aye, sir,” came from the communicator.

Kirk and Uhura huddled together against the stone wall of the temple, or whatever it was, watching as the storm front rapidly closed. They could see lightning flashing and sparking constantly now. The sky was dark, and the air began to smell - strange. Like burning tin, almost. Wind was beginning to gust, howling eerily where it raced amongst the old stone buildings, and whipping sand through the air. It stung wherever it touched exposed skin, and blinded if it got into the eyes. Kirk did his best to shield the smaller Uhura with his broad back as he frantically yelled into his communicator, his voice barely loud enough to be heard above the growing din of the storm.

_“Enterprise!”_

“We’ve just beamed up the rest of the landing party, sir,” Scotty’s voice was almost lost in the screeching wail of the wind. “Ah’m havin’ a wee bit ‘o a hiccup with the transporter … hold on just a wee sec … _got it!_ Ready to beam you and Uhura up in 3 … 2 …”

“Scotty!” Kirk tried to shout, his mouth instantly filling with sand. He hacked and gagged as swirling golden light coalesced around his spluttering form. “Scotty, hurr-”

There was a long, _long_ moment of bright golden silence. Then, finally, distorted sound, as if he were hearing it from underwater, began to filter in. At first he couldn’t make out what it was, exactly. Then he began to recognise voices. Then words. Expletives, to be exact, in a familiar thick Scottish accent.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck!_ Ah don’t know if Ah can hold ‘em! Get Dr McCoy up here!”

The world started swimming into focus.

Kirk knew something was wrong as soon as he was fully re-materialized on the transporter pad. He tried to take a step forward, but his balance was all wrong and he stumbled. He shook his head, feeling a little dizzy, and swallowed against a throat suddenly dry.

Someone – Scotty, it was Scotty – was saying something, and although Kirk registered the panic in his voice he couldn’t process the actual words because at that moment he had caught sight of himself standing across from ... him ... on the transporter pad, face as white as chalk and eyes so wide they looked like they might pop right out of his head.

The other him swayed for a moment, looking like he might be sick, before crumpling to the floor. Kirk started towards his doppelganger instinctively. He reached out without thinking, as if he could catch the other man from across the pad. The sight of the hand he had extended brought him up short.

The slender, elegant appendage in front of him was dark-skinned with long, perfectly manicured silver-painted nails. It was most decidedly _not his._

Dr. McCoy and two of his staff came pelting into the room, the doctor’s usually soft, Georgian drawl as sharp as a whip cracking as he bellowed at Scotty to tell him what had happened. He dropped to his knees beside Kirk’s unconscious body, tricorder already whirring.

Kirk really needed to sit down.

It took him a moment to realise that the nurse calling: “Lieutenant? Lieutenant?” was addressing _him_. The woman took him gently but firmly by the elbow, steering him down the transporter steps and crooning something about going to sickbay in his ear. Now she was calling him Nyota.

_Oh FUCK!_

“Wait, I’m not,” he tried to explain, but the voice that issued from his mouth was not his. Although it wasn’t too much higher it was melodic, almost sultry, and definitely, _definitely_ a woman’s. The transporter room seemed to tilt on its axis – _was the ship alright?_ \- and he almost fell to his knees, saved only by the nurse. The grey walls started to spin around and around his head. “I’m gonna throw up on you,” he mumbled in the voice that wasn’t his own. Scotty appeared at his other side, and between them he and the nurse guided Kirk down to sit on the transporter steps, urging him to put his head between his knees. Kirk thought he heard someone calling for a bucket.

“’M not Uhura,” he ground out, but it didn’t seem like anyone was listening. He felt a sudden slight cold sting in his neck. After a moment or two the room stopped spinning and he was able to sit upright without feeling like he was going to vomit. Scotty pressed something cold and damp against his forehead, murmuring: “it’s all right now, lassie,” while the nurse was fussing with an empty hypo spray. Across the room Dr McCoy was supervising the loading of his body onto a stretcher to be taken down to sickbay.

 _“Bones,”_ Kirk croaked out, Uhura’s sweet voice cracking. The doctor’s spine stiffened like he’d sat on a cattle prod and his head snapped around so fast that he’d surely gotten whiplash. All activity in the transporter room ceased as the doctor stared at him, frozen in horror. Then, tentatively, as if he didn’t want to know the answer, Dr McCoy asked: “Jim?”

“Yeah,” Kirk swallowed once or twice, the last vestiges of his nausea and lightheadedness dissipating under the effects of the hypo spray, although his skin – well, Uhura’s skin – still felt kind of clammy. “Yeah, Bones, it’s me. Don’t ask me what happened, because I don’t know.” Scotty – white faced with shock – reached out and plucked at Kirk’s sleeve. He looked down – _oh good God! He was wearing a dress_ – and saw that he was mottled with heavy yellow dust from the planet below.

“Ah think it was this, sir,” the Engineer said, rubbing some of the dust between his fingers. “From the way the transporter reacted Ah believe some of the minerals are magnetised - we had a slight problem after we beamed up the first three, and Ah’d thought Ah’d fixed it, but evidently no’. I canna say fer sure ‘til Ah’ve had a better look, but Ah reckon Ah’ve read about something like this happening before.”

At that moment Kirk’s body moaned, head lolling weakly from side to side where he (?) lay on the stretcher. Kirk went to run his hand through the short blond bristles at the back of his head – only those bristles weren’t there anymore. Instead, his fingers brushed the long dark strands of Lt. Uhura’s ponytail, gritty with the mineral-rich yellow dust. It sent a jolt of wrongness through him from top to toe.

He gestured at his body. “Is Uhura in … there?”

Dr McCoy shook his head and sighed, his expression worried. “I don’t know, Jim. I assume she is, if you’re in her body. I need to get you both down to Sickbay right now. At best, it looks like you’ve both suffered shock - but I won’t know if anything worse than the two of you being … misplaced … has happened without running some tests.”

Kirk clambered to his – Uhura’s (?) – feet, for once not going to make a fuss at being told to come to Sickbay. This was awful, and he wanted it fixed _now._ McCoy’s staff wheeled the stretcher with Kirk’s body, Nyota Uhura’s consciousness presumably inside it, out of the transporter room. Kirk and the doctor followed along behind. Scotty stayed behind in the transporter room, muttering to himself as he pawed over the transporter console, looking for answers.

Kirk’s head was beginning to clear, and his natural air of command beginning to reassert itself. He looked down at his _dr_ -uniform.

“This dust will need to be analysed.”

Dr McCoy nodded absently. He was clearly running over lists of tests in his head. “Better get Spock for that one - where is the hobgoblin anyway? Has he been notified that his captain and his girlfriend were in a transporter accident?”

Kirk felt like a bucket of ice water had just been poured down his spine. How could he have not thought to notify Spock right away? Not only was it an imperative part of procedure, what with Spock being second-in-command of the _Enterprise_ , but Spock was one of his two best friends _and he hadn’t thought to tell him that his girlfriend had been injured?_ What kind of a friend was he?

He clapped Dr McCoy on the shoulder - which felt weird, because the doctor was taller in comparison to Kirk than he should have been - and gasped out: “I have to go tell him, I’ll be right back, I promise,” before bolting down the corridor. He ignored McCoy’s shout of protest that followed him.

Spock had said he would be in Science Lab 2b, working on his experiment. It didn’t take Kirk long before he was standing outside the lab. Taking a moment to breathe deeply and compose himself, he pressed the button to activate the door.

It was safe to say that Kirk knew his first officer fairly well. The half-Vulcan was unfailingly cool (baring two occasions Kirk could think of, but those were extenuating circumstances) and disinclined towards admitting he even had emotions, let alone displaying them. Kirk, therefore, would never have predicted that, as soon as he had walked through the door and greeted his first officer by his name that Spock would rise, stride towards him, and, before he could say anything further, enfold him in a passionate embrace and proceed to kiss him like he’d never been kissed before.

Jim Kirk hadn’t exactly kept it in his pants for most of his young life. He had had a _lot_ of sex, and a lot of kisses, and some of them were very, _very_ good. But none of those kisses could compare to this. This was a side of Spock he had rarely seen – and certainly not in this kind of circumstance. The Vulcan had all but lifted him off his feet, possessive hands running all over his body - stroking his back, kneading his ass - while a fierce, demanding mouth plundered his own. It was passionate, it was fiery, it was mind-blowing and Kirk couldn’t do anything but melt into that strong embrace and moan into Spock’s mouth as the best kiss of his life completely and utterly stole his ability to think.

Floating on a hazy wave of pleasure, Kirk felt something strange. It was in his head … something pushing … gentle but firm, insistent, wanting to be heard. _“Is this to your satisfaction?”_ Spock asked, but the words never left his mouth, for that mouth was still kissing Kirk, tongue twining around and stroking his hungrily …

All of a sudden Spock froze, his lips pulling away from Kirk’s. Kirk slumped against the Vulcan’s chest, dazed and gasping for air. He felt the heat rising in his face as he realised that his –Uhura’s- panties were damp against his skin, tingling pleasure radiating from between his legs.

He looked up through lust-fogged eyes at Spock’s face, so much higher above his own than it should have been, and saw that the Vulcan’s skin was paler than usual, almost chalk-white, and although his face was as blank as ever his eyes were blown wide. There was horror- soul-deep, oh-god-what-have-I-done?- _agony_ in those eyes.

“Jim?” Spock whispered.

“Uh,” Kirk blurted out in Uhura’s voice. “Hi. I can explain.”

Spock stepped back from him, his eyes going as carefully blank as the rest of his face, as if a shutter had been dropped down to hide his thoughts from Kirk. Kirk felt bereft, and oddly cheated, which wasn’t at all fair to Spock. The Vulcan had no way to know it wasn’t his girlfriend he had just swept up into his arms, and Kirk had no right, he had to remind himself, to be upset that Spock could kiss him like - like that and then just shut himself off from Kirk so abruptly.

He clenched both hands in the fabric of his _dr_ -uniform, swallowing around the lump threatening to form in his throat. He opened his mouth to speak but Spock had beaten him to it, the words tumbling out of his mouth very, very fast and in an odd, low voice that didn’t really sound like Spock’s at all:

“Please believe me, Captain, I would never have been so presumptuous with your person had I known it was you – it is just that Nyota had recently expressed to me her desire to have me be more physically demonstrative of my affections, especially when-”

“Mr Spock, you’re babbling,” Kirk interrupted him, not so much because he was telling the Vulcan to stop as because he had never, ever known Spock to do so before and it was something of a surprise.

“My apologies, Captain,” the Vulcan said in a voice that was still strained. Kirk noticed absently that Spock’s front was lightly dusted in yellow from where their bodies had been pressed together. He went to run his hand through his hair, and encountered Uhura’s ponytail again. It sent a shocking bolt of _wrong_ through him once more.

“Look, tell you what,” he managed to get his brain to string together, “We can both forget your … enthusiastic greeting … so long as we’re clear on the fact that it was not my intention to deceive you or otherwise cause you to believe that I am Lt. Uhura. In retrospect I can see where I failed to take adequate precautions to prevent misunderstanding, but as I’m sure you can appreciate I’m not exactly at my best right now. I …” now he stuttered, not wanting to meet Spock’s eyes, which were still eerily blank. “I was coming to tell you that there’s been a transporter accident.”

Kirk heard Spock exhale slowly as he stared fixedly at the toes of Uhura’s boots – well, as much of them as Kirk could see, anyway. Her breasts were in the way.

“Is Nyota alright?”

Kirk swallowed. “I’m not sure. Bones has taken my body down to sickbay – we think she’s in there, like I’m in here. She – my body fainted. But maybe she’s awake by now. We should get down there.”

Kirk shuffled his feet. “I _am_ sorry for the misunderstanding, Spock. I thought that this was the sort of thing you should hear from me in person, and it never occurred to me-”

He was stopped by a gentle touch on his shoulder. He looked up at Spock. The Vulcan’s eyes seemed to be back to normal – though Kirk read pensiveness and distress there, he could _see_ those emotions Spock never showed any other way again. Spock was no longer shutting him out. It sent a wave of dizzying relief through him.

“I understand, Jim,” Spock said, sounding more like his normal self. “I was … surprised, but I do not blame you for what happened.”

That dizzying wave became a flood. Kirk watched distractedly as Spock raised one long, elegant hand to rub at some of the dust on the front of his shirt. His fingers came away yellow and gritty.

“Bones was hoping you’d help him run tests on that,” Kirk offered. Then another thought occurred. “I better get down to Sickbay before I make him madder than he probably already is. I don’t want him to hypo me into oblivion.”

They walked down to Sickbay in anxious silence. Under normal circumstances Kirk and Spock had a connection - sometimes to the point that it seemed that they were so attuned to one another that they could read each other’s thoughts - but Kirk didn’t think he’d ever been so focused on Spock - on anyone - in all his life. On one hand he still had thoughts of ‘the kiss’ swirling about in his head. It had been everything and more than he had ever dreamed that kissing Spock would be like - except that in his dreams and fantasies, Spock knew exactly who he was. On the other hand, he couldn’t help but notice the tension that most wouldn’t even be able to see in the Vulcan - in the stiffer-than-usual set of his shoulders, the way he kept his eyes fixed firmly straight ahead. It must be terrible for Spock - who’d already suffered so much loss in his life - to be walking towards Sickbay, not knowing what he was going to find …

A lump formed in Kirk’s throat at the thought of having to do the same walk himself, but with Spock the one injured, not knowing if he was going to recover …

He shut that thought down before it could become too distressing.

Dr McCoy was scowling and grumbling at him as soon as they walked through the doors.

“Dammit, Jim, don’t run off like that!”

“Sorry, Bones,” Kirk glanced nervously at Spock, seeing the way the Vulcan was holding himself so very unnaturally still- even for him. “Any word?”

McCoy sighed, casting a sympathetic glance at Spock. “Uhura’s in your body, Jim - and awake. She’s just in the showers now, getting the dust off.” He waved a hand at a nearby nurse. “You need to do the same, Jim. Give your clothes to Nurse Rossi here. We need to analyse that dust.”

There was a nurse – a female nurse – standing behind Bones’ shoulder, waiting patiently to take him to the sonic showers located off of Sickbay. With the nurse’s help he toddled to the shower. He needed her assistance to figure out the fastenings on his _dr_ -uniform, and he left her bagging the soiled garment as he stood, Uhura’s long hair falling unbound around him, letting the little sonic blasts shiver along his skin and pummel him clean. He made sure to keep his gaze carefully front and centre. Once, when he was younger and less mature –and not yet Uhura’s friend – he would have looked. But not now.

Once he was clean the nurse handed him a pile of neatly folded clothes - and whoever had done it was getting a commendation, because they’d brought him pants and a gold uniform shirt in the right size.

When he walked back into the main room, it was to see himself sitting on a biobed, talking to Spock. He - that is to say, Uhura - looked pale and miserable. Spock, for some reason, had that shut down look on his face again. 

“Hey,” Kirk greeted as he took a seat beside the bed. He wasn’t quite able to disguise the unnatural, forced cheerfulness in his - Uhura’s - voice. “How’re you feeling, Nyota?”

“I’m fine thanks, Captain,” she answered, seeming relieved at the distraction from whatever she and Spock had been talking about. It was downright trippy to see his own mouth moving, to hear her words in his voice. “I just had a bit of a shock, that’s all.”

“You’re telling me,” Kirk chuckled nervously - except it came out as more of a giggle. “This is so weird.”

 _“Weird_ doesn’t do it justice,” Dr McCoy grumbled as he came to join the little group gathered around the bed. He placed a hand firmly on Kirk’s - Uhura’s - shoulder. “Get up on the next bed, Jim. I need to run some tests.”

Kirk complied without complaint, not wanting to push his friend’s famously thin temper. This, however, only seemed to bother Dr McCoy, judging by the troubled expression on his face, - Kirk had thought that he would be relieved. 

After what seemed like an infinite period of tests and hypos and yet more tests McCoy declared that both Kirk and Uhura were free to return to their quarters for the time being. Both were currently suspended from duty for medical reasons, and Spock had already arranged for Lt. Sulu to take the conn, so that he and Mr Scott, both of whom were higher up the chain of command, could be free to investigate the transporter malfunction and, hopefully, determine a way to reverse it. Before she went, McCoy lectured Uhura on Kirk’s many allergies. “Don’t take even a simple analgesic without okaying it with me first,” he cautioned her. “Jim has more allergies to medication than a Rigellian Centipede has legs.”

After Spock and Uhura had left, the former walking his girlfriend to her room - and that had been weird, watching his own body walk away - Kirk turned to Dr McCoy.

“Honestly, Bones - do you think that we’ll be able to get back to our own bodies?”

McCoy heaved a sigh. “Look, Jim, I know that I complain about the transporter a lot - the whole idea makes me uncomfortable - but there are a lot of my colleagues out there who think that the transporter actually has potential as a piece of medical equipment. You know it keeps a pattern, of your DNA, your molecular structure? I’m sure between them that Scotty and Spock can find a way to fix this whole mess up- if anyone can sort this out it’s those two.”

Kirk clapped a hand to McCoy’s shoulder - and was once more disconcerted by the fact that it was more of a reach than it should have been - and gave a little squeeze to thank his friend for the reassurance. “Thanks, Bones. You know where to find me.”

Kirk left the Sickbay, headed for his quarters. He had the walk there to decide which he wanted more - bed, or the bottle of Jack he kept tucked away in his desk drawer …

_**To Be Continued** _


	2. In Which Kirk and Uhura Bond Over Booze and Hair Care Products

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, I'm a glutton for punishment - sex is easy. Meaningful character interactions, that's hard. _Especially_ when Kirk's head is all over the place. Anyways, please enjoy!

Kirk heaved a sigh as soon as the door to his cabin _hissed_ shut behind him. Closing his eyes, he rested his forehead - well, Uhura’s forehead, really - against the wall. It was smooth and cold and helped him to feel grounded in a world turned upside down.

This was so, so _not_ cool.

He could practically hear the whiskey calling him from his desk drawer. He knew its taste, its smell, the way the harsh, artificial lights would move through its amber depths. He was no stranger to drowning his sorrows - and yet, perhaps because he was older and, supposedly, wiser than the devil-may-care genius level repeat offender that Christopher Pike had talked onto the shuttle for Starfleet Academy in that hole in the wall in Iowa, the idea of losing himself on a sea of Jack-fueled forgetfulness did not have the appeal it once would have done. The events of the day and the resultant adrenaline draining from his body had left him feeling - well, drained. Heaving another sigh he decided to seek the solace of his regulation bedsheets instead.

Kirk had never been a pyjama person. Sharing a room with Bones at the academy and the need to be able to leap out of bed and race to the bridge in the event of an emergency had broken him of the habit of sleeping entirely nude - but he still tended to stick to a simple pair of underpants. Now, though, he would have to factor in Uhura’s boobs.

The nurse who had handed him a fitting uniform had also helped him into a bra. It was uncomfortable, and Kirk felt great relief at being able to unsnap the back and shrug the blasted thing off. He eyed it distastefully as he hung it over the back of his chair along with the gold uniform shirt and the regulation black trousers. How did women stand them? It had been uncomfortably tight underneath his - Uhura’s - boobs, and the straps seemed to either want to slip off his shoulders or dig into them. Careful not to look in the mirror while he was bare-chested, he fished a black undershirt out of a drawer and pulled it on. It came down to nearly mid-thigh on Uhura’s nymph-like frame - surely that would do for a nightie? The uniform she wore every day was shorter.

He couldn’t help himself from looking in the mirror now that he was dressed. Uhura’s face stared back at him - except, not the Uhura he was used to. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her without her trademark ponytail - but it wasn’t there now. Her long, dark hair hung unbound about his shoulders, not quite as straight as he was used to seeing it and getting a little … frizzy. The sonic shower had removed any make up from his - from her face, and it was another novel experience to see her without those striking eyelashes.

Most of all, though, what Kirk noticed was that although he was in Uhura’s body, wearing her features, they didn’t hold themselves the same way. Uhura had something ... something regal in her bearing that was missing now. Kirk rolled her shoulders experimentally, unable to stop his eyes tracking the interesting way that her chest moved beneath the soft, black fabric of his shirt. He remembered the night that he had first met her - before Spock or even Bones - the way she had strutted through that shitty bar like queenly sex-on-legs and the resultant shiver of excitement that had run its way up his spine. Their verbal sparring had aroused his mind in a way that the doe-eyed be-freckled farm girls (and boys) that had made up the bulk of his conquests back in those days had never done - it was no wonder Spock had fallen for her, really. _And_ further proof of their mental compatability - his and Spock’s, that is. Attracted to the same ‘type’ of woman and all.

Shaking his head when he realised that he’d been wool-gathering, Kirk moved over to his bed and slipped between the sheets. _At least, if I have to be stuck in the body of a woman, it’s a damn sexy one…_

Kirk closed his eyes, snuggling into his pillow - and hit an immediate problem. Uhura’s boobs were in the way. No matter how much he wriggled, tossed or turned, the damn things seemed determined to stop him getting comfortable. Even when he lay on his back he was aware of them, a weight on his chest that shouldn’t have been there. Sure, it wasn’t a _huge_ weight, but it was still there and he wasn’t used to it - and it was stopping him from getting to sleep.

Finally, feeling peevish and tired, Kirk gave up on trying to sleep in this strange, uncooperative body. He briefly wondered if Uhura was having any trouble adjusting to his. Maybe they should have exchanged tips and tricks with each other down in Sickbay … but that line of thought was leading to places he didn’t want to go just yet. Bones, Spock, Scotty - none of them had ever let him down. They would get this sorted, and asap, and then he wouldn’t have to worry about boobs, or, or periods, or …oh _eww_! Uhura would be on birth control, right?

_Oh God!_ He’d have to ask Bones about that in the morning. There were some places that man just did _not_ want to boldly go.

Well, if he couldn’t get to sleep maybe he could distract himself with paperwork. Fuck knows, there was always enough of it.

Sighing and grumbling, Kirk got out of bed and seated himself at his desk instead. His computer screen flared to life at the word ‘on’ and he picked up his padd from his desk. It was awkward holding the damn thing with Uhura’s claw-like nails. He’d had trouble pressing the button to get into his cabin too - he’d had to carefully angle his finger to use the pad of it rather than the tip, because trying to push with the actual nail had been distinctly uncomfortable.

“Computer, access Captain’s logue for Stardate 226-”

The computer made a noise like a mouse being stepped on. “Access to Captain’s logue restricted to Captain Kirk and First Officer Spock,” it told him in its tinny, artificial voice. “Exceptions made for Acting Captains.”

“What? I _am_ Capt- oh right.” Kirk closed his eyes and dropped his face into his hand - and, in doing so, somehow managed to scratch himself with Uhura’s nails. Just a tiny little scratch, but still. It stung. He started to breathe heavily through his nose, and he could feel a headache starting behind his eyes. His hands clenched into fists, the long, _stupid_ nails digging into his palms. His temper, already more than frayed just ...snapped.

“Forget it!” he barked at the computer. He jabbed a finger at his intercom button, his lip curling back in a frustrated snarl as the nail got in the way again, squishing and bending uncomfortably. He tried again, this time more carefully, but with his blood still feeling like it was boiling in his veins.

His own voice answered the hail to Uhura’s quarters, sounding concerned. “Captain? Is everything alright?”

“No,” Kirk spat back in Uhura’s voice. “No, it’s _not_. How the hell do you do anything with _these fucking nails?”_

There was a long pause. “Hang on,” his own voice finally said. “I’m coming. Have you had any dinner?”

The _non sequitur_ seemed to short out something in Kirk’s brain. “What?” He glanced at the clock. It was 20:28. With everything that had happened today he had missed lunch - and dinner too, apparently. He hadn’t even noticed.

“Uh no. No, I haven’t.

“I figured - I always get cranky when I’m hungry. I’ll bring you something up, okay? I’ll be there in about 5 minutes.”

Kirk blinked. “Okay,” he answered sheepishly. The intercom clicked as Uhura hung up on her end.

Shaken by the rollercoaster of the last few minutes, Kirk couldn’t resist anymore. He reached into his drawer and pulled out the bottle. When Uhura arrived a few minutes later, two dinner trays and a small, black bag balanced in her - well, in Kirk’s hands - she found Kirk sitting at his desk, having just downed his whiskey - and a second glass sitting across from him, waiting for her. She set her burden down and just stood there, one hand on her hip, head tilted in that way of hers, looking him up and down. It was - it was 100% Uhura, but with his face, his body - like she was wearing a mask, or something, but Kirk could still tell it was her underneath.

It was _weird_ and it was _creepy_ and yet he was actually really relieved that she was here.

“Did Spock come by to check on you?” Uhura asked with this voice, his lips, his vocal chords as she carefully slid into the seat opposite him, scooping up her glass and taking a swig. “I thought he was going to.”

“Mm-mnh,” Kirk shook his head and picked up the bottle. “Do you mind if I have another?”

“Go ahead.”

Kirk refilled his own glass and topped up Uhura’s when she held it out to him. “I think things between Spock and I might be a bit awkward for a while…” _Yeah, that thought hurt_ “... so, um, speaking of Spock … did he tell you ...?”

Uhura pulled a face mid-sip. “That he kissed you, thinking it was me? Yeah, he did. I _might_ have had a little bit of a meltdown at him in Sickbay over that.”

Kirk remembered the shut-down look on Spock’s face as he stood at Uhura’s bedside. The urge to jump in and defend the Vulcan was instinctive and immediate. “Don’t be mad at him - that was my fault. It never even occurred to me that he might think I was you … I’ve never woken up in someone else’s body before, you know?”

Uhura, glass still in hand, sat back and gave him a long, searching look, a thoughtful expression on her face. It was very, _very_ disconcerting to be thus scrutinised by his own eyes.

Eventually she dropped her gaze, swishing the last amber-coloured dregs around in the short, stout glass. “Forget about it, Captain. It wasn’t your fault.”

There was an awkward pause. Eventually, Uhura sighed. “Come on, let’s get some food into you. You’ll feel better for it.”

Kirk complied meekly. There was some sort of fragrant spiced chicken-casserole-y thing with rice and spinach, and Uhura was right because it did make him feel better. They ate in awkward silence for a little while. It made Kirk feel … twitchy. It was like when he was a kid and his Mom would actually come home, for once, though it was always clear that she didn’t really want to be there. There’d be this big farce of all sitting down for a happy family dinner. Mom would ask questions - about school and his and George’s grades, and what they’d been doing for fun and they’d have to be so careful about what they told her, because Frank would beat the crap out of them if they ever told her the truth, and it was just … just awkward.

Uhura … Uhura was nothing like his Mom. The Communications Lieutenant was pure strength, as rigid and beautiful as as steel - and often just as cold. Kirk was pretty sure she had straight up hated him during their time at the academy - and, ok, fair’s fair, he had been a dick to her - but there was something wonderful about her rejection, as weird as that sounded. She had been a challenge, something James T. Kirk had never really gotten in Iowa (unless you counted simply surviving to adulthood) and they were kinda friends now, sorta, but they’d never actually ‘hung out’ one-on-one like this before, not like he would with Bones or Spock or even Scotty, and there was a definite hint of frost in the temperature controlled air.

Eventually, Kirk cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“Listen, Uhura, I’m sorry for yelling at you before. I-”

Uhura held up a hand to interrupt him. “It’s already forgotten. Given what happened today, I think we can both be forgiven for being a bit irritable. I had trouble with the nails the first time I got them on too.”

Kirk shook his head, Uhura’s hair swaying back and forth with the movement. “How do you do it? They’re driving me _insane_.”

Uhura smiled with Kirk’s lips. “You get used to them after a day or two. If you’re really having trouble pushing buttons and things try doing it with your knuckle.”

Kirk looked down at the glossy, silvery claws protruding from his fingertips. “Riiight. Seems like more trouble than they’re worth to me - and, god, I tried to lie down and sleep before and no matter what I did your boobs just make it impossible to get comfy.”

Uhura snorted. “Infinite diversity in infinite combinations,” she told him, sticking her - his- chin out primly. She sighed when Kirk looked at her blankly. “It’s a Vulcan saying. And if you think that suddenly having boobs and long nails is driving you insane, think about how _I’m_ feeling just at the moment. All of a sudden - _wham!_ I’ve got all this … all this _stuff_ between my legs!”

Kirk couldn’t help it. He tried to hold it in, he really did.

He started to laugh.

Uhura scowled at him with his own face. “Yeah, go on, laugh it up,” she said tartly. “I can’t cross my legs the way I normally would without your balls getting uncomfortably squished, I can’t _pee_ without having to touch your junk - the damn thing _moves_ of its own accord! I was reading an article on the etymology of the word ‘Nirak’ and suddenly my pants are too tight - how does that even make sense? And then, oh god, and then Pav had heard what happened and he came by to check on me, and I foolishly _told_ him about the problems I was having with your junk and he sat down and gave me this lecture on how to handle and subtly adjust your family jewels and he was just so _earnest_ and it was so _sweet_ and so horribly _awkward_ all at once ….”

Kirk”s body - well, Uhura’s-body-with-Kirk-inside - was shaking with laughter. He could picture Chekov’s angelic slavic features, surrounded by his tousled mop of curls, as he explained the ins and outs of testicle-ownership with a seriousness that would make Spock proud - if Vulcans could feel pride. Even in the grip of belly-shaking mirth, though, there was something Uhura had said that he couldn’t just let slip past - call it nostalgia for his dickish academy days… 

“So, you know … any time you want to handle my family jewels you just have to ask, right?”

For a moment he was looking at his own features twisted with Uhura’s familiar pouty, sassy, “I hate you’ glare, before she snorted again and started laughing too. “They’re _my_ family jewels at the moment - you do know that, right?”

“Well, just make sure you look after them for me, that’s all I’m saying…”

“Speaking of looking after …” Uhura reached over and picked up her little black bag. It turned out to contain … hair products. “There’s no way I’m leaving you in charge of my hair. Have you even brushed it?”

Kirk guiltily looked down at some of the long strands hanging over his shoulders and down his front.

“Didn’t think so,” Uhura snorted. She stood and walked around to stand behind Kirk, hairbrush in one hand and some kind of spray bottle in the other. “I’m just glad you only had access to a sonic - do you have any idea how my hair would be by now if you’d gotten it wet?”

She set to work brushing out the tangles, giving each lock a squirt from the little dark blue bottle before she did so. His - her - hair instantly resumed being smooth and glossy.

Kirk couldn’t remember ever being - well, groomed, before. It was kinda nice. There was one thing he couldn’t let slide though.

“So, how come my balls are now your balls, and yet your hair is still your hair?”

“Because I said so, Kirk. Now sit still.”

“Nup, no dice. It’s my hair now - and I don’t think that this style is really me. I’m gonna cut it - so what do you think? Is a pixie cut too tame? How about spikes? Ooh, no, a mohawk!”

Uhura smiled - or perhaps it was a snarl. Whichever it was, she was definitely showing her -his -teeth. “Oh, so you do have a death wish? Do you have any idea how long I had to grow it out for? You’re lucky, you know. In the past women used to have to use these - I dunno, like heated rods, but not quite - that they used to keep their hair straight. Be thankful you don’t have to use one of those.” She held up the bottle. “Now, just one squirt -” she demonstrated “- and _voila!_ all straight. And I _do_ expect you to take good care of my hair for me.”

Kirk shook his head, making Uhura tug on his - well, her - hair sharply. “Heated rods? Women are crazy. _Crazy_. That’s worse than the nails.”

“Don’t you do anything to my hair or my nails, Kirk! Remember, your balls are in my hands - ah, shit!”

Kirk couldn’t help it - he cracked up again. “No more Jack for you,” he chortled. “I think you’ve had enough.”

For a moment Uhura’s face - well, his face - went red and he thought maybe she was going to get angry, but then all the tension drained out of her shoulders and the red out of her face and she started laughing too. “You are such an idiot!” she chuckled at him. Deftly, she pulled her his hair, her hair, whatever, into a plait and fastened the end. Dumping bottle and brush on the table she plopped back into her seat, still grinning at him.

Kirk poured them both another drink. He pushed Uhura’s glass towards her. “Friends?” he asked, holding his own glass out, offering a toast.

Uhura picked up her glass, sobering somewhat. She gave him another of those long, searching looks. Finally she leaned forward and clinked her glass softly against his.

“Friends,” she agreed firmly.

They had a few more drinks and just … chatted for a while. Reminiscing about the academy, mostly. The time the dorm rooms flooded because some idiot tried to flush a bag of Andorian Flagweed rather than get caught with it. Gaila. Then they both got a little melancholy in their cups. At 00:14 Uhura said goodnight and headed back to her own quarters.

Kirk sighed a little when he slipped into bed and those damn boobs were still there … but the alcohol in his system made it better... the discomfit didn’t seem quite so obvious anymore.

If he thought he’d been tired before he was exhausted now, and in a pensive mood. He sort of wished Uhura had stayed. It had been nice to have her company. Sleep was still elusive, if for a different reason. His brain didn’t seem to want to shut down.

He couldn’t stop thinking about ‘The Kiss’.

It was an undeniable fact that Kirk had something that went way beyond a crush going on when it came to his First Officer. To date, he was confident that he had managed to keep this particular fact a secret. Not only had he never seen anything in Spock’s behaviour, or in their conversations, that indicated that the Vulcan might be interested in a relationship with another man, Spock was in a long-term, committed relationship with Uhura. Sure, Kirk had been witness to a few of their fights, but everyone fought sooner or later. As a couple they seemed so good together - there was no way Kirk could compete with that. There was no way that Kirk would _want_ to compete with that - as a kid from a pretty fucking broken home Kirk could treasure a good relationship, even when it wasn’t his own. He really was genuinely happy for them- especially after tonight.

Sometimes he’d thought about confessing to Spock - at times the effort of keeping his true feelings concealed got to be a bit much, and he just wanted that weight lifted from his shoulders. But Spock was one of his best friends, and Kirk was filled with a terrible fear that if he did confess then that friendship would be compromised. Not only would losing what they had break Kirk’s heart, it would pull apart one of the best command teams that Starfleet had ever seen.

He couldn’t allow that.

Fuck, but it _hurt_. He wanted Spock so badly- wanted Spock to _love_ him so badly. It was agony to replay the kiss over and over again in his mind, but he couldn’t seem to help it. On the one hand, Spock had looked so _horrified_ when he realised that it was Kirk, and not Uhura, that he was kissing. That had been like a knife to the heart - would it truly be that abhorrent to kiss James T. Kirk? Was he really that fucking unloveable?

On the other hand, the kiss itself, prior to Spock realising who he really was and pulling away, had been the definition of _perfect_. And no matter how hard he tried he knew he was never going to be able to forget it, never be able to stop longing for another, with every atom of his being.

Kirk sighed and buried his face in the pillow. He was _never_ going to be able to get to sleep …

oOo

Lips. His world was narrowed down to a pair of lips. Soft and plump, they were shaded a delicate pink, like the satiny, dew-drop covered petals of a newly unfurled rose. They were an exquisitely fine bow shape, with every graceful curve a perfect work of art.

They were soft and warm and yielding and ever so slightly damp and when they kissed him it made his heart sing and his loins _burn._

Those- those _magical_ lips made their way down his throat and across his chest. Their touch was warm but the wetness they left behind them rapidly cooled in the night air. His skin erupted in goosebumps in their wake, tingling shivers of pleasure chasing their way across his torso and he whimpered as those lips parted for an oh-so-talented tongue that dipped teasingly into his navel …

“Spock,” Kirk whimpered, arching his body up to rub against the hard, muscular form above him. “Spock, _please_ …”

“Shhh,” the Vulcan responded. His teeth grazed lightly at the tensed, tautly quivering muscles of Kirk’s stomach as he crouched over his captain like a dark, predatory, alien cat. That tongue snaked out again, lavishing broad, wet swipes across Kirk’s skin, closer and closer to his pelvis and the rigidly straining member, pink and engorged and _aching_ so with need that nestled there in its little bed of golden curls.

Kirk whimpered pitifully. He looked up and beheld galaxies dancing across the cobalt sky above, the bright, shimmering colours of their trailing skirts competing with the dazzling diamond-like stars, each wanting to be the most radiant. Kirk sucked in a breath, awestruck, and then the next moment he was moaning - no, _screaming_ \- as the Vulcan’s mouth descended on him, engulfing him in hot, wet velvety-ness right down to the root.

“Spock!” he gasped out, back arching, unable to keep his hips from thrusting upwards as his fingers unthinkingly sought out that silky, soft, slippery, cool Vulcan hair and _clenched_ in it, mussing up that perfect never-a-hair-out-of-place bowl cut that on anyone else looked stupid but on Spock just looked so damn sexy. He writhed against the cold, hard ground beneath him - and what was he lying on, ice? - tugging at Spock’s hair as a great pressure built within him, all his muscles, clenching, clamping down, _seizing_ with it …Spock lifted his head to look at him and Kirk saw the galaxies reflected there in miniature...

Kirk awoke with a snort. He blinked stupidly at his darkened room, unsure what had woken him. His head was still muddled from the dream in all its sexy, pleasureable, slightly nonsensical glory.

The all-too-familiar thrumming pulse of unrequited arousal was surging through his body, its tingling focal point between his legs. His nipples, too, seemed to be unusually stimulated. They were so hard they hurt, and seemingly engorged to the size of marbles. When he shifted in bed it caused the what-should-have-been-soft coverlet to drag against them. Kirk hissed in a breath. It felt like someone was dragging sandpaper across his nipples!

Still groggy and not-quite-awake Kirk reached down into his underpants to take himself in hand - might as well deal with this quickly so that he could get back to sleep. The next moment, though, a bolt of white-hot panic was shooting through him and he scrambled to sit up as his grasping fingers encountered … nothing. No familiar, blood-engorged, rock-hard dick, no balls, just a slick, warm crease, which sent a shiver of tingling pleasure through him when his fingers ghosted over it …

Kirk’s shoulders sagged with relief. He remembered now - he was in Uhura’s body, and she was in his. _God, but that had been a fright!_

It took the young captain a moment to register that he was still idly playing with his - well, with Uhura’s private parts. It felt good, the same and yet different as when he touched his cock.

Kirk swallowed. Part of him was screaming at him to stop - this wasn’t his body, he didn’t have permission to touch it like that. Uhura might see it as a violation - and if there was one thing James. T. Kirk had sworn never to do in bed (or in a chair, or a hayloft, or a cornfield, or the back seat of a hoverbus) it was engage in any sexual activity that was not 100% completely, totally and utterly consensual.

At the same time, he was _masturbating_. Uhura had vacated the premises, so to speak.

Still ...

Kirk pulled his hand away, somewhat reluctantly. He would talk to Uhura. He should have done it last night. They would set some ground rules, work out what they were each comfortable with the other being allowed to do with their bodies.

He had only been teasing Uhura last night when he had said that he would cut her hair. But - and he really _didn’t_ want to think about this, Spock and Scotty would have them fixed up in next to no time, you’ll see - if they were stuck in each other’s bodies for the rest of their lives … what were they going to do? There was no way Kirk _wouldn’t_ cut it … taking care of the damn stuff was a _nightmare_. The same with those stupid nails.

What would Uhura and Spock do? Would they stay together? Would they keep having sex? From the look on his face after realising who it was that he was really kissing, Kirk didn’t think Spock would be interested in that _at all_. What if they’d wanted to have kids some day?

Any residual tingling arousal had dissipated under such disquieting thoughts. Instead, there was a cold, sick feeling pooling in his stomach instead. With a sigh Kirk got out of bed and checked the clock - it was 04:47 - and decided he needed to get a status report on how they were doing with fixing the transporter. Scotty would probably be asleep, but he would have assigned his best men to the job, and Spock - Spock was probably awake. He hardly ever slept compared to his human co-workers, although he did meditate a lot.

“Computer?” Kirk found on slid on his uniform trousers. “Locate Commander Spock.”

The lights on the computer flashed as it completed its task. “Commander Spock is in Science lab 2B,” it eventually reported in that god-awful tinny voice.

Kirk nodded to himself and continued getting dressed. Though part of him very much wanted to hide from Spock at the moment - at least until he’d gotten this confusing maelstrom of emotions swirling inside him _somewhat_ under control - he was a firm believer in confronting unpleasant tasks head on.

Time to get this awkwardness over with, then.

Feeling a little more confident once he had his command golds on, Kirk strode out the door, headed for the science labs. This time he would most definitely make sure to announce who he was first.

_**To Be Continued …** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, never fear, dear readers - while this chapter was light on Spock he shall reappear in the next one. As always, feedback is much appreciated.


	3. Wherein Which Spock Asks Kirk For Relationship Advice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, first of all I am really, _really_ sorry that this update took so long! I just couldn't get it right!
> 
> Secondly, please enjoy!

Kirk closed his eyes in bliss. He lay on his back, a pillow beneath his hips, his hands clenched in the tangled mess of his comforter. A soft groan escaped him as Spock pushed his legs back, strong hands squeezing slightly where they rested on the back of his thighs, just below his knees. Spock’s hands were warm, and it was all but impossible to remember that any other part of him existed but that spot right there, where skin met skin …

That is, until the next moment the Vulcan was inside of him, his slick, rigid cock pumping smoothly in and out with each graceful undulation of his hips. It burned, and it felt wonderful, causing a tense, delicious heat to start pooling inside of him, growing ever more insistent …

“Spock,” Kirk breathed softly, his head lolling back. The soft _‘clup, clup’_ sounds of skin meeting skin filled the room, along with the harsh sounds of their panting. Sex hung on the air like a thick, cloying perfume.

Kirk was close - so close. He arched his back as Spock increased his pace.

“Spock,” he whispered again, “I’m … going … to …”

Something beeped. Kirk mumbled sleepily and opened bleary eyes. _He had been enjoying that dream._ The next moment he was squinting and grumbling at the brightness of the lights above him. He held a hand up in front of his eyes to try and shield himself a bit -and his heart skipped a beat. The hand he had held up - it was all wrong. Then he remembered. Lt. Uhura was stuck in his body and he was stuck in hers.

He sat up slowly and looked about him. The gleaming white walls of Sickbay, with their shiny array of state-of-the-art monitors and medical equipment, stared silently back. The place seemed pretty well empty but for him. _What had happened? Why was he …? Oh. That’s right._

He had gone to see Spock. Though the walk from his quarters to Science Lab 2b had begun as an anxious one for Kirk he had soon become resolute. He knew how to fix this - he would simply forget about the kiss. He would act like it had never happened; he would forbid himself from thinking about it; he would never, ever, ever speak of it to Spock. It would be like nothing had ever happened between the two of them, no matter how it secretly fulfilled many of Kirk’s wildest dreams in regards to becoming more than just friends with his First Officer. Things would go back to exactly the way they were before this whole transporter accident debacle.

Kirk could be content with that. He had liked what they’d had. He did _not_ like this - this awkward, feeling like he should be walking on eggshells, nervous _bullshit._ So he would make it go away.

Soon enough, he found himself standing outside the door to Science Lab 2b- again. Shaking his head to clear away a disconcerting feeling of _deja vous_ he reached out a hand to press the button. Before his fingers could contact it’s smooth, shiny surface, however, the door slid open with a quiet _hiss_. Spock stood framed in the doorway, a collection of data chips in his hands.

The Vulcan blinked in barely concealed surprise as he had to stop abruptly to avoid crashing into his superior officer. There was a note of hesitation in his voice as he asked: “Jim?”

“Uh, yeah. It’s, uh, it’s me.” Kirk cleared his - Uhura’s - throat. He straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin, resolutely ignoring the sudden clammy feeling to his skin and the way his stomach was tying itself together in uncomfortable knots. He made sure to keep his eyes carefully fixed on a point somewhere over Spock’s left shoulder when he spoke. “I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to see if you had anything to report.”

The Vulcan tilted his head, one eyebrow quirked upwards, as it always was. “Jim, you are meant to be resting,” Spock admonished him gently. “Let me walk you back to your quarters.”

Kirk opened his mouth. Kirk shut his mouth. He didn’t really want to go back to his quarters, but he couldn’t really think of valid reason _why._ He certainly wasn’t about to tell Spock: _“No, see, I’ve just had this really raunchy dream where you sucked me off and the last thing I need right now is you anywhere near my bed, because I’m trying to pretend that everything’s normal, and I am in no way suddenly obsessed with your lips because you kissed me thinking that I was your girlfriend because I’m currently trapped in her body …”_

Spock must have sensed his pensiveness, for, with a smoothness and tact that in no way acknowledged that his superior officer was just standing there in the hallway gawping at him, he said: “Or, if you prefer, we could go to mine. I don’t normally entertain visitors, but I believe that in this case I could make an exception.”

Kirk nodded; swallowed. “Okay.” They started walking. After a moment, Kirk glanced at his First Officer. The Vulcan was, as always, expressionless, his posture perfect. Apparently sensing Kirk’s regard he turned to look at his Captain and friend, one eyebrow arching in a silent query.

“So … there’s nothing to report?” Kirk carefully kept his tone as nonchalant as possible. “Nothing at all to tell me? It might make me feel better and help me sleep.”

Spock stared at him long and hard as they walked. Kirk stayed quiet. He didn’t like the ramifications if Spock was internally debating whether or not he should be told of their findings … but then the Vulcan’s expression softened. “Of course, Jim. I have just completed my analysis of the samples collected from your and Nyota’s uniforms. Each contained several previously unidentified minerals, and, as Mr Scott suspected, each contained components with magnetic properties. I have just sent my report through to Engineering.”

“Any idea whether or not this is reversible yet?”

“Not yet, Jim. But I am confident that, if it can be done, between us Mr Scott and I will find a way.”

Kirk nodded, feeling some of the tension he had been refusing to acknowledge draining away. Yes, he trusted Spock. He had _faith_ in Spock and his ability to sort this mess out. “I knew coming to talk to you would make me feel better.”

It wasn’t until Spock unexpectedly reached out and tentatively put a hand on his shoulder that Kirk realised he had said that last part out loud. He would have been embarrassed, but for the expression in Spock’s eyes. It was _gratitude._

“Thank you, Jim,” Spock said simply. “I often find solace in speaking with you as well.”

“Oh.” They walked in companionable silence the rest of the way, Kirk a little confused by what had just happened - it seemed to have been one of those deep ‘see, this is friendship’ moments that sometimes crept on them unawares. He wondered if he should say anything further, then decided not to.

It wasn’t until they had reached Spock’s cabin and stepped inside, the doors closing behind them with a faint _hiss_ that Kirk realised that he had never actually been in here before. The air was warm - definitely above ship standard - and dry and spicy. Kirk couldn’t quite place the unexpected smell until he spied the incense burner neatly tucked away on a shelf, beside a little candle in a safety pot. There were what looked like artefacts from Vulcan arranged on the wall above the bed: two lethal looking antique weapons - one a short sword of some type, with an ornate hilt, and the other something like an axe, but more wicked looking - and something like relief carving of a bear, but with long, sabre-like fangs. A 3D chess set sat on the desk, the pieces arranged as if it had been left off mid-way through a game.

“I can turn the temperature down if you would like,” Spock spoke up from behind him. Kirk looked over his shoulder at him, and saw that the Vulcan seemed - not quite at ease. His posture seemed even straighter than normal, if that was possible, and his hands were clasped low in front of him. “Nyota sometimes finds it too warm for her to be comfortable.”

“I- no, no, I’m fine.” Kirk’s brow furrowed. “If this is, I mean … do you find it cold on other parts of the ship?”

“Not so as to be a problem, no.”

“Cause if you do, I mean, I’m sure we could put the temperature up a few degrees at least. No one’ll mind.”

“I appreciate the offer, Jim, but I assure you that it is unnecessary.”

Kirk resumed his scanning of Spock’s quarters, still at something of a loss for what to say. It was a disconcerting feeling - Kirk’s inability to shut up was a more usual problem. His eyes settled on a stringed instrument - a harp, maybe?- carefully placed beside the bed.

“What’s that?”

Spock took a step closer, now standing beside him. “That is my lyre. It is an instrument of great traditional importance on Vulcan.”

“Huh.” Kirk scratched the back of his head, still undergoing a moment of disorientation at the unexpectedly long hair he found there. “You never told me you played an instrument. Will you play something for me?”

Spock actually looked surprised - if only for the briefest of moments. His hands unclasped from their habitual position, his eyes widened slightly and his lips parted just the tiniest bit ... Then Kirk blinked, and the Vulcan was back to being his usual composed self.

“Yes, of course, Jim.” Spock picked up the instrument on the end of the bed almost reverentially. Seating himself on the end of the bed he plucked a few strings experimentally. “What would you like me to play?”

“Surprise me,” Kirk replied. In spite of how close and Spock were he was finding it hard to wrap his head around this side of the Vulcan he had never seen - or, rather, he was finding it hard to wrap his head around the fact that he clearly didn’t know his First Officer - the man he considered his best friend - as well as he thought.

Spock began to play. Kirk watched his long, pale fingers dance elegantly over the strings, enraptured by the way they moved. Spock had closed his eyes, his head tilted slightly as he played. He looked so … peaceful. Kirk resolved then and there that he would have Spock play for him again - every night if he could. He would have wanted it so even if the Vulcan had played terribly, just to see him like that - but, as it was, the gentle, haunting alien melody could only be described as heartbreakingly beautiful. It made Kirk think of sad, old movies about lovers torn apart, and reunited after a lifetime lived away from one another; of rain drops hitting windows, and undrunk cups of tea, left to go cold.

It made him think of his Mom, and how she had never stopped grieving for his father.

It took him a moment to realise that Spock had finished playing, his dark eyes watching Kirk guardedly. “That,” Kirk breathed, not at all having to play up his admiration, “was amazing. I mean, _fuck Spock!_ I really had no idea. That was …” He didn’t know how to put into words how the Vulcan seemed to have tapped into his very soul. “That was _beautiful._ ”

Then, the most amazing thing happened. The tips of Spock’s ears flushed green. Kirk couldn’t remember ever having seen them do that before. He could feel the beaming smile spreading across his face. “Spock, are you _blushing?”_

The Vulcan made a flustered cough/throat clearing sound, and the tips of his ears turned an even darker shade of green. Kirk couldn’t help it- he started laughing with delight.

“Holy shit, _you are!”_

Spock stood abruptly, though he still took great care to place his lyre down carefully in its spot beside the bed. “Thank you for your praise, Jim,” he said with more than his usual stiffness. “It is very much appreciated.”

“Hey, hey!” Kirk jumped up too and grabbed the Vulcan by the sleeve. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have laughed. I didn’t mean to make fun of you - I’ve never seen you blush before, is all. ‘s kinda cute.”

Spock blinked, seeming to settle somewhat. “Cute?” he repeated, sounding very faintly appalled.

“Well, yeah. Oh come on, I didn’t mean it as bad thing! It’s … it’s _endearing._ That’s the word I was looking for. Don’t worry about it.”

“Endearing?” Spock echoed again. He eyed Kirk suspiciously for a moment before nodding slightly, apparently mollified. Kirk couldn’t help shaking his head and letting out one last chuckle. “You’re jumpy tonight, you know that?” A sobering thought occurred, deflating Kirk’s mood. “Is it because I’m …” he let the sentence trail off, his hand gesturing up and down to his borrowed body.

Spock resumed his seat on the end of the bed. “It is disconcerting to see you wearing Nyota’s form and she yours,” the Vulcan admitted. The tips of his ears started going green again. “Things between Nyota and I have been particularly strained since I confessed the incident between you and I to her. I am finding things … difficult … at the moment.”

“Hey,” Kirk leaned down to put a hand on Spock’s shoulder. “Don’t beat yourself up over what happened in the science lab.” Spock raised an eyebrow at the metaphor but made no comment. “That was my fault, not yours. I didn’t even stop to think, and you know that’s a habit I’m supposed to be getting rid of, remember? I mean, if I’d paused for just one second and actually _thought_ about what I was doing it should have been pretty obvious that you’d think I was Uhura - but no, I rushed in, as always. That mistakes on me. And don’t let Uhura drag you over the coals about it either - like I said, my fault, _not_ yours.”

Kirk took a deep breath. He hadn’t realised that he was getting so worked up. He was all but shaking.

“And, you know you can always talk to me, right? About anything. That’s what friends are for.”

Spock nodded, though Kirk was bothered by the fact that his eyes had gone unreadable again, like they had after the kiss and again in the Sickbay.

“There _is_ something I believe discussion may help me to resolve in my own mind. That is, if you would be amenable to hearing it?”

“Yeah, Spock, of course.” Kirk sank down and seated himself cross-legged on the floor, looking up at his friend. “Fire away.”

Spock drew in a deep breath, straightening his posture and squaring his shoulders the way he did before delivering a report. The he slumped - if only minutely - and looked at Kirk with one of those expressionless expressions that was something akin to helplessness.

“This is hard for me,” the Vulcan admitted. “I am unused to discussing intimate personal matters.”

“I know.” Kirk told him simply. “I find that shit hard too. Just try me.”

Spock breathed out through his nose in a way that, were it anyone else, would have been a sigh. “Jim, you - you have had girlfriends in the past, have you not?”

That was a bit on a _non sequiteur._ “Yeah. Well, not as many as you might think. Mostly you need to be with someone for more than one night to call them your girlfriend. Why’s that?”

“You have ended romantic relationships?”

Kirk started experiencing a weird sinking feeling. This was .. this was _not_ the kind of conversation he’d ever have expected to have with Spock. Part of him, something inside, pricked its ears up hopefully, but he squashed it down as hard as he could. He knew better than to get his hopes up.

Besides which, a horrible sensation of guilt, mostly for Spock, but also a little for Uhura, was washing over him. It wasn’t right to be getting excited over your friends having relationship troubles. And on top of that, recent events had shown that Spock was very, very clearly _not_ interested in him. He swallowed around the lump that appeared in his throat as he firmly crushed those sneaky, unbidden thoughts.

“Yeah, I guess. You and Uhura - you’re not - I mean - you’re not thinking about breaking up, are you?”

Spock’s hand clenched and unclenched in his lap. The Vulcan watched the movement of his own fingers apparently mesmerised. “I … love ... Nyota very much. She has an exceedingly impressive intellect; she is unrivalled in her field; her creative brilliance astonishes me, and when she sings …” Spock closed his eyes for a moment, murmuring softly in his own language. He opened his eyes again. “She is exceedingly physically attractive. In Vulcan terms, she is an ideal mate. In human terms, she is the woman I love. And yet, for past 6.3456 months our relationship has been excessively strained.”

Kirk swallowed. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He clenched his own fists in the fabric of his trousers. The words sounded hollow to his ears - and disturbingly dishonest- but he didn't know what else to say.

“On Vulcan, a man does not choose his own mate. Marriages are arranged by the couple’s parents, when they are still children. The complexities of courtship are non-existent. I have no prior experience with them outside of my relationship with Nyota. I have done my best to understand Nyota’s expectations of me and to seek clarification from her where necessary. I have attempted to rectify behaviours or occurrences that were causing dissention between us. I do not believe that the results have always been satisfactory.”

“Is that why … you know …” Kirk swallowed and licked his lips again. He was feeling twitchy again, getting hot under the collar remembering ‘the kiss’. “Is that why, when I walked through the door, you stood up and kissed me? You thought that it would please Uhura?”

Spock’s eyes were still fixed on his hand. “It is hard for her. Your people are so much more expressive than Vulcans. Intellectually, she understands that it is a matter of cultural upbringing, but emotionally I believe that she feels neglected by the fact that I am not naturally as … tactile … as a fully human male would be. She has sometimes made comments that might be described as … wistful. She has, for example, on more than one occasion pointed out you’re own comfort with touching your friends and shipmates, Jim, as an example of something that she feels is lacking in our own relationship.”

Kirk blinked. “Oh,” was all he could think to say. _Uhura had been watching him that closely?_

He must have said that last part out loud. Spock’s eyebrow lifted in what would have been, on anyone else (except maybe another Vulcan), a gentle smile. “She need not watch you closely, Jim. It is obvious to anyone who spends even a small amount of time with you, you have an instinctual ability to judge how to best reassure or inspire those around you. How many times have I seen you place a hand on Ensign Chekov or Lt Sulu’s shoulders? The former you always leave your hand there for a longer duration, normally giving his shoulder a squeeze. The latter you give a quick pat or a slap. The effect on their morale is instantaneous. You are constantly touching Dr McCoy in a similar manner. The same with Mr Scott. Even I - how many times have you clapped me on the shoulder? Though at first the gesture was unfamiliar to me, it has become … comfortable. I believe that I should miss it, were you to stop.”

Kirk felt his cheeks - no, his whole face - heating. He had never realised that he touched people so much. Or that people _noticed_ it about him.

“Um,” he said. “I never really thought about it, I guess.”

Spock’s shoulders dropped infinitesimally, in a gesture that probably would have been a dramatic slump and a long, drawn out sigh if done by Kirk himself. “I have tried to imitate the casual ease with which you make physical contact with those you care for in my interactions with Nyota, but it is apparently beyond me.”

Kirk’s mind instantly went back to the kiss. There had been nothing that seemed forced, nothing that seemed anything but natural about the way Spock had swept him up and ravished his mouth. Hell, Kirk would be more likely to claim that that Vulcan was clearly born to kiss.

“I think you’re being too hard on yourself,” he said instead. “Uhura’s not dumb, Spock. She knows how lucky she is to have you.”

“It is not just that, Jim. Recently I have begun to have my own doubts about my feelings for Nyota.”

 _“What?_ No way? Come on, Spock, you guys are the perfect couple!” Kirk’s mouth opened and closed as his brain scrambled for words to put in it. “Just look at the two of you! I - I need Bones here, because he’s know some old southern saying that perfectly fit this situation or, I dunno, he’d make one up for something - and, besides, not five minutes ago you were telling me how much you loved her!”

Spock seemed to be watching his outburst with something akin to fascination. “But, Jim - how do I really know? Love was not something discussed on Vulcan the way it is on Earth. How can I know if what I feel for Nyota is really love? Can you tell me? Have you ever been in love?”

Kirk’s mouth did the opening and closing thing again. This was, most definitely, the least expected conversation in the history of least expected conversations. 24 hours ago, if someone had told him that he and Spock would be having a late night (well, early morning) heart to heart about how you knew if you were in love, he would have sent them to Bones to have their head examined. Kirk didn’t talk about such things because he was, you know, a guy, and Spock … well, Spock was a guy and a Vulcan. Not to mention the tangled web being woven all about him …

“Yes,” he finally stated simply. “Yes, I have.” (There was no way in hell he was going to tell the Vulcan that he was, as a matter of fact, still very much in love with said Vulcan.)

Spock regarded him curiously for a moment, as if expecting him to say something more, then evidently concluded that nothing more was coming. “The piece I played for you tonight,” he confessed softly, “was also the first piece that I ever played for Nyota.”

“Oh.” Kirk wasn’t quite sure what he felt at this revelation. It made him all hot under the collar. The way Spock said it - it was like it was _significant._ And there was something about the fact that everything was all wrapped up around Uhura - which made sense, because she was Spock’s girlfriend and all, but still - that made him feel - twitchy. Restless. Agitated. He didn’t know why he’d offered to be Spock’s shoulder to cry on. He was _shit_ at this.

“I - look,” he clambered to his feet. “I’m gonna go and get us something to drink. And then we can do what all human men have done since the dawn of time when they have women troubles - get drunk. I’ll be right back.”

Spock didn’t answer as Kirk took the shortcut to his own quarter through their shared bathroom.

Kirk swore softly to himself when he made a frustrating discovery -there was no more Jack. He and Uhura had finished off his bottle last night. Kirk searched about, sure that he must have more booze of some sort here somewhere. It wouldn’t be at all like him not to. Just as he was about to give up hope he spied an ornate bottle tucked right into the back of the cupboard. Pulling it out, he regarded it hopefully. He wasn’t entirely sure what it was. He vaguely remembered that it had been a gift, from some alien or other that had come aboard the _Enterprise_ \- was it that Andorian Captain whose ship they had rescued? Or maybe that Tellarite trader that had come aboard… oh well. The liquid sloshing around inside was an inviting, pale blue.

“Here,” Kirk offered, bringing the bottle and two glasses back with him into his First Officer's quarters. He poured out two generous measures and then pressed a glass into Spock’s hand. The Vulcan regarded it with something less than enthusiasm. “A toast!” Kirk declared. “To fools in love!”

He downed his drink in one quick shot.

It _burned._ Like, really, _really_ burned. Whatever it was, it was way more potent than anything he’d ever had before. He couldn’t help but cough.

“Holy shit,” he spluttered out, still coughing. “Oh, _what is that?”_

“Jim?” Spock set his own untouched glass aside and rose to stand at Kirk’s side all in one fluid motion. “Jim, are you alright?” the Vulcan asked, his obvious alarm conveyed by the snap in his voice. His face - always so prone to seriousness, was the very image of severity.

“Yeah, I, uh,” Kirk coughed. His mouth - his mouth had started itching. No - not itching. _Burning._ He scrubbed at it with the back of his hand, but it didn’t seem to help. Rather, the sensation was spreading down his chin. At the same time he started to feel nauseous, like he needed the toilet _now._

“Spock,” he coughed, “can you - get - Bones? Don’t - feel - well.”

The next moment, though, he found himself unable to speak at all. He tried to draw breath and found that he couldn’t do so. His chest felt tight, constricted, like he was being _squeezed._ A terribly, dragging, wheezing noise escaped his throat.

Spock leapt into action, slamming his hand down on the intercom button on his desk. “Sickbay!” He barked into the speaker. “Medical emergency! Captain Kirk is exhibiting signs of anaphylactic shock! I’m bringing him down now!” Without waiting for a reply the Vulcan swept Kirk up in his arms, bounded through the _hissing_ doors before they’d even had a chance to fully open, and raced down to Sickbay at his full and considerable tilt.

Kirk wasn’t really in a position to observe most of the journey. The struggle to breath was pushing all of his panic buttons, and it was all he could do to hang on to the last few scraps of his composure. He clung desperately to Spock’s blue-clothed chest, the ragged rasp of the Vulcan’s breathing and his own desperate, whimpering gurgles loud in his ears. Over it all he could hear the frantic pounding of his own heart, louder than any drum.

Spock must have cleared the distance between his cabin and Medical in little more than a minute, but to Kirk it seemed to like forever. Gleaming doors _hissed_ open and he was all but blinded by the bright, glaring lights of the Sickbay. Spock laid him down on an empty biobed as Bones swung into Kirk’s limited field of view, barking orders at nurses in between rapidly firing questions at the Vulcan.

Kirk felt the icy bite of a hypospray in his arm, then Bones’ large, warm calloused hand on his shoulder, urging him to stop clinging to Spock like a baby possum to its mother and lie down flat. Kirk didn’t want to. But at Bones’ gentle insistence he did. To his surprise, relief and incredible confusion, Spock reached out to clasp his hand - a normal human gesture of comradely comfort, but one which Kirk would never have expected the touch shy Vulcan to tolerate, much less offer.

Another hypospray. The pressure on Kirk’s chest began to ease. He sucked in a ragged breath as Bones fitted some sort of triangular breathing device over his nose and mouth. Kirk squeezed his eyes tight shut, panting, while Bones rubbed soothing circles on his back and Spock held his hand.

In spite of everything, Kirk found himself hyper-focused on that. Spock’s skin was warm and smooth against his, but those elegant, almost delicate looking fingers were so very, very strong. Spock was clinging to him just a little bit too hard - almost as if his famous Vulcan calm was slipping and he was letting his anxiety show - and Kirk’s fingers were starting to hurt. As soon as he had thought that Spock let go. Kirk opened his eyes to see those long, green-tinted digits sliding free of his own …. dark skinned, silver clawed ones. _Oh._ Even though his own fingers were aching now, Kirk felt saddened at the withdrawing of Spock’s touch. It was the last thought that he had before Spock’s hand was withdrawn entirely.

“Honestly, Jim,” Bones was grumbling, but there was relief and even a smile on his face as he watched the readings on the monitor above Kirk’s bed. “For such a big, bad starship captain you sure are a delicate flower.”

The Sickbay doors _hissed_ and one of the nurses walked through, carrying the bottle of whatever it was from Kirk’s room. Uhura - that is, Uhura in Kirk’s body - was hard on his heels. Kirk was struck anew at the strangeness of seeing someone else wearing his features as he beheld the panic in his own eyes, saw the way his normally golden complexion had turned sheet white.

“They commed me,” Uhura panted out breathlessly in Kirk’s voice. “What happened?”

Bones had moved away from the bedside to confer with the nurse with the bottle, who then left, headed in the direction of the medical labs. “Jim here just had a brush with anaphylactic shock,” the doctor informed them once the nurse had gone. “I’ll know more once we run some tests on the contents of that bottle. By God, Jim, you’re lucky that Spock was there with you, though. From the sounds of things you went down hill remarkably quickly.”

Uhura’s gaze swung between the two of them. Even though it was his own face that he was looking at, Kirk couldn’t read her expression. He wasn’t sure whether or not he found that more or less creepy.

Spock straightened himself up, clasping his hands behind his back in that oh-so-familiar pose. Uhura’s gaze narrowed a little at that, but then she seemed to slump, sighing. It was a strangely defeated gesture, and Kirk wondered at the two of them. He wondered if the conversation he had just had with Spock, revealing how far onto their rocks their relationship had really gotten, made him read more into their body language and interactions, or if it was the time he had recently spent with Uhura, getting to know her better. Probably a bit of both. He was slightly amazed that he had never noticed the tension that seemed to dance in the air between them.

“You’ll need to stay here for observation for a while, Jim,” Bones interrupted, completely oblivious. “Uhura, you should stay too. I’d like to run some follow up tests on the pair of you anyway.”

“Okay,” Kirk assented quietly. Uhura just nodded.

Now, Kirk looked around the Sickbay. He wasn’t sure how long he had been asleep. Luckily, though, he didn’t have long to wait before the doors _hissed_ open and Bones walked in. The old country doctor’s face split into a beaming grin as soon as he saw that his friend and Captain was awake.

“Mornin’ sunshine! Feelin’ better? I got the results back from the lab - turns out Uhura is allergic to that alien spirits. She’d never tried it, so didn’t know, an’ there was nothin’ in her records.”

“Mmmph!” Kirk grunted as Bones unceremoniously (but gently) pushed him back down flat so the biobed could better read his vitals.

“Everything looks a-okay, Jim. You’re fit as a fiddle. You’re free to go whenever you want.”

“Any news on whether or not they can put us back in our right bodies yet?”

Bones’ cheerful expression faltered. “Not yet, Jim.” he said softly. “I’m sorry.”

Kirk swallowed; forced a grin. “Hey, yeah, don’t worry about it. You’re always saying I need to learn patience one of these days, right?”

Bones clearly wasn’t buying his false cheerfulness. “You alright, Jim?”

“I -” Kirk heaved a sigh. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m hanging in there.” He pulled a face at his long-time friend, though. “But it is so not fair that I get a chance to swap bodies with someone else and I _still_ have an allergic reaction. The gods of space travel are mocking me.”

Bones snorted softly. “Yeah, well, it’s you, isn’t it? Jim Kirk, bad luck magnet. If things start getting you down, you let me know, you hear me, Jim? I got a real nice bottle of Saurian brandy with our names on it.”

“Thanks Bones,” Kirk smiled. He accepted the doctor’s hand to slide down off the biobed. “I’m gonna go get some breakfast. Uhura gets cranky when she’s hungry.”

Kirk clapped his friend on the shoulder by way of farewell and headed off to the Rec Room, leaving Dr McCoy standing beside the biobed, shaking his head, behind him.

**_To Be Continued ..._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, my assertion that Spock isn't bothered by the temperature of the ship is based upon the fact that, as far as I could tell, in the TOS Episode 'The Deadly Years' Spock makes no indication that the temperature of the ship had bothered him prior to their sudden and advanced aging. It is in no way canon, and my case for it is flimsy, at best. I did, however, put/leave it in because I wanted a way for Kirk to show his willingness to go out of his way for Spock and his attentiveness to Spock's needs.
> 
> With the whole, Uhura's body had an allergic reaction thing - my own personal headcanon is that all of Kirk's allergies are to medications. While I do enjoy seeing Kirk allergic to food used well in fanfiction, as far as I'm aware there's nothing to indicate that he has any food allergies. I kind of liked the idea of the drama of a big reaction though, and I also liked the idea of turning that particular device on its head, so here we are. I hope y'all enjoyed - particularly Hopscotch ^_-


	4. Further Awkwardness Ensues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let the angst continue!

Kirk never did get the chance to take Dr McCoy up on that offer of a Saurian Brandy and a sympathetic ear to listen to, as an unexpected and severe outbreak of an alien fungal infection, stemming from a malfunctioning sonic, swept through the _Enterprise_ the day after his little brush with the unidentified alien alcohol. From the quick update his CMO gave him (Kirk insisted he be kept in the loop, even if he was still currently listed as being on medical leave) it was similar to the condition known on Earth as ‘athlete’s foot’, only far more virulent and prone to spreading over the whole body of anyone unfortunate enough to contract it - as well as spreading almost instantly to anyone stupid enough to touch them without gloves on. None of the standard topical creams were working, and the medical staff had their hands full with a Sickbay overrun with itchy, angry ensigns.

He wasn’t really getting to see anything of Spock, either. His First Officer was sequestered away in the transporter room with Scotty, which had become a scene of circuit-board and wire-filled bedlam. Though both were making an effort to keep Kirk updated as to their progress, it was very clear from the perplexing half-hour that he spent sitting in with them that genius he may be, but mechanical work this far above the transporter basics was not his forte. Give him a nice, complicated bit of computer code anyday. Though both Vulcan and Engineer were incredibly patient with his inexperienced fumbling, he felt distinctly in their way. Disliking the way it made him feel all hot under the collar - and not in the good, sexy kind of way - he decided it was best to leave them to it.

Sulu and Chekov weren’t exactly available for tea and a chit chat either. Those two, now fulfilling the roles of Acting Captain and Acting First Officer respectively, had their noses to the grindstone running a constitution-class starship where most of the senior commanding officers had been recused of duty, in the middle of an embarassing if non-life threatening medical crisis. They were also without the assistance of Dr Marcus, who, as surplus Science Officer, had taken over the experiment that had prevented Spock from leaving the _Enterprise._ Kirk didn’t see why it was so urgent, being something to do with the effect of gamma radiation on a hitherto undiscovered type of space rock, but there was some professor-y bureaucrat with a bug up his ass about it back on Earth demanding results _yesterday._ At least the top brass were playing nice for once and not riding Sulu’s ass too hard - at least, as far as Kirk could tell. He’d already sent through the recommendation for commendations all around, and the approval had come back immediately from Commodore Stocker, which was something.

Still, as the type of man who liked to have his friends about him, trying to adapt to being trapped in a strange, not to mention _female_ body, suffice it say, Kirk was feeling miserable without someone to vent to or otherwise blow off steam with. Working out alone wasn’t cutting it. Pacing back and forth in his quarters wasn’t cutting it. Pacing back and forth on the observation deck wasn’t cutting it. Playing 3D chess against the computer wasn’t cutting it. Rereading his collection of the complete works of Shakespeare (a present that had mysteriously arrived from New Vulcan while Kirk was in the hospital recovering from the incident with Khan. Not a padd, but actual _books._ Kirk had never been exposed to any of the works of Shakespeare before - he’d not exactly been the scholarly sort during High School. He didn’t have to be. The material was always way too easy, and inevitably he’d get bored and just skip school in favour of getting up to mischief instead. He had been pleasantly surprised to find that he actually really, _really_ liked them) _was not cutting it._ He might just have gone insane if there hadn’t been someone else aboard who was in exactly the same unenviable position that he was - Nyota Uhura.

Things between them were little tense, at first, in spite of their previous bonding over dinner and Jack Daniels. It wasn’t so much that he thought Uhura was mad at _him_ , as she seemed sad, and just angry at the world in general. He could relate. And clearly she had more shit going on in her life than just the fact that she was facing the prospect of spending the rest of it as a man, if his conversation with Spock was anything to go by.

Kirk didn’t like seeing his friends down. It made him feel helpless, restless and irritable if he couldn’t cheer them up again - and Kirk only really knew one way to get a woman to smile. It was time to deploy the infamous Captain James T. Kirk charm.

It started, conveniently enough, with the Shakespeare. Kirk brought it up in conversation, and Uhura gladly pounced on it as a topic of shared interest. They debated which were better - the comedies or the tragedies. They argued over which of the classic plays was the ‘very best’. They bickered over favourite and least favourite characters; made cases for which character they each were most like, or which was most like the other. They acted out their favourite scenes to one another, Uhura with a professionalism and a knack for acting that made Kirk question what she was doing in Starfleet, and Kirk with an over-the-top enthusiasm that had Uhura clutching her sides from laughing so hard.

Uhura told him about growing up in Africa, and, eventually, Kirk told her a little bit about growing up in Iowa. Nothing too - whatever - although he did tell her about George running away and the weeks and weeks of nightmares he had had afterwards that something bad had happened to his brother. The flash of horror on her face - _well, his face_ \- quickly followed by such deep sadness was too much to deal with, though, so he left it at that. But, at least the tension between them seemed to have finally dissipated for good.

Both were the sort of people who liked to keep active, however, getting restless when they were still for too long. It was actually Uhura who proposed that they try sparring against one another. Kirk readily agreed - even if he wasn’t curious to see what it was like to go toe-to-toe against his own body, they both needed to maintain the requisite Starfleet fitness standard, and regulation hours of combat training. After all, they weren’t actually _invalids,_ even if they were on medical leave. They were simply … misplaced.

It _was_ fun to spar against his own body - and more of a challenge than he had expected. That was a good thing, though. Kirk liked a challenge. He was used to being more top heavy, to having greater brute upper body strength to rely on. Fighting in Uhura’s body made him have to rethink everything, rely more on agility and speed and less on sheer power.

It made her have to reassess her moves and style too - both similarly handicapped by sheer strangeness, it made for a fairly even match. It took them both a long time to adjust to not falling instinctively into old habits, and Kirk thought that they’d both become more skillful for it.

All the time that they were on the mats they teased, ribbed and jibed at each other, bantering competitively back and forth. Uhura could _sass,_ and gave as good as she got. Kirk soared on the feeling of it. He had grown up rarely ever getting a chance to truly use his lightning-quick wits to their full potential - and it was no surprise that when he thought of all his closest friends - Spock, McCoy, Scotty - they were people with whom he could fully embrace his intellectual conversational potential - each a fellow genius (several geniuses rolled into one in Spock) in their own right. It seemed Uhura was the same.

It had been a week since the incident with the mystery alien alcohol. Kirk and Uhura were both sitting on the floor in the gym, their regulation workout gear drenched and their skin glistening with sweat, following a particularly vigorous sparring bout. They chatted breathlessly as they passed a water bottle back and forth. Though he was ever-conscious of the fact that he was looking at his own face, his own body when he spoke to Uhura, and she at hers, Kirk had ceased to find the experience bizarre. It was what it was - he’d even finally got used to the nails, and working around them had become second nature.

He expressed this realisation out loud. Uhura got quiet and thoughtful, one knee drawn up to her chest, her arms wrapped around it, hugging it to her. Her newly-acquired blue eyes were sad.

“Do you think they’ll ever be able to put us back?” she asked softly.

“Oh come one - this is Spock and Scotty we’re talking about! Of course they will!” Kirk responded automatically. He wasn’t at all surprised to realise that he felt this way - when he looked inside he found a bright and shining belief in Spock’s ability to fix _anything._ And Scotty was, after all, their resident miracle worker. He prodded her gently with his elbow. “Just admit it - you’re worried about having to give my body back - you know Spock will make you play fair and turn all of that Kirk-brand-awesomeness back over to me.”

Uhura snorted and shook her head at his idiocy. But she didn’t grin back.

“He _does_ think you’re pretty awesome you know.”

Kirk blinked, not sure that he’d heard right. “What?”

“Never mind.” Uhura looked away, refusing to meet his eyes. She started to idly play with the hem of her regulation black track pants. Kirk fidgeted nervously, sensing some weird vibes in the air between them. He wasn’t sure what to say, though, so he just watched Uhura, waiting for her to give him some sort of signal as to what to do next.

As the silence stretched on and on and on between them, making Kirk feel anxious and twitchy, he cracked. He couldn’t help it - he had to say something.

“You and Spock,” he coughed nervously, rubbing at the back of his neck. He barely even noticed the long strands of hair that swept over his knuckles when he did so. His face was hot. “Is everything okay?”

_How do I keep getting myself into these conversations?_

“Not really.” Uhura’s smile was sad. “I -” she sighed. “I could sit here and talk for hours and still not be able to tell you how much I love him, but _it’s so hard._ I’ve never felt so deeply connected to anyone else in all my life, but I feel like we want and expect such different things from a relationship. I know it’s not Spock’s fault, but I want a man who I can hold hands with in public, or put my arm around, or kiss …” Her face had gone very still and crumpled, like she was trying hard not to cry. Her eyes were damp, and her voice was starting to shake. “I want someone I can laugh with, be spontaneous with. And then I feel stupid and selfish for doubting everything that I do have in Spock for things that are so … _petty._ I mean, how could I ever think about giving him up? He’s _brilliant_ intellectually _and_ artistically. He’s the most handsome man I’ve ever met - he’s got those _gorgeous_ big, brown eyes, and those _ears_ … he’s loyal and noble and compassionate, even though he was raised in a society that values logic over compassion. He has this - this _thirst_ for knowledge, and this _drive_ to learn. And he sees past superficial things about people, to their _true_ selves. When I first met him, even though I knew he could look into my mind if he wanted to, one of the things that drew me to him the most was the fact that I felt like he looked past who I was on the outside and - and at the _real_ me. Like he could see into my soul or something. But then …” she turned her face away, trying to hide the single tear that slipped free. Even though she swiped it away instantly, Kirk saw it. He saw, too, the way she was fighting to keep her shoulders from shaking.

“Hey …” Kirk wasn’t good with women who were crying. He never had been. He reached out, his hand hovering indecisively, before finally settling on giving Uhura an awkward pat on the shoulder. He was pretty sure admitting to someone that you’d been talking about them behind their back was a _Bad Idea_ , but maybe, in this situation …?

“I, look, Spock and I were talking - the night I had the allergic reaction, remember? - anyway, he kept telling me how much he loved you, and - and, _why_ \- and he basically just said what you did, but, you know, inverted - how it’s hard because he feels like he’s letting you down and - look, what I’m saying is that I think you guys just need to sit down and talk and you can work all this out, right?”

Kirk was babbling. He knew it. He couldn’t seem to stop. As much as he had spent _fuck knows_ how many nights dreaming of Spock free and single and his for the taking the idea of Spock and Uhura having _relationship troubles_ and _breaking up_ was … no. Just no. He just wanted things back the way they had been. He would never wish for anything more than friendship from Spock again; he would never take what they already had for granted; he would never even _think_ about the kiss again, and he would find a way to stop all the wet dreams about pointed ears and upswept eyebrows _if only they could go back to what all three had had before._ Because he felt cold and sick at seeing the pain both Spock and Uhura were in.

Uhura shook her head. She opened her mouth, her lips framing the words ‘no’, but no sound came out but for a single sob that managed to slip past her steely control.

Kirk didn’t know what to do. Uhura kept shaking her head, until finally words came out.

“Spock …has ... Spock has feelings for someone else.”

Kirk opened his mouth. Now _he_ was the one who had no words. It took him several attempts to speak. “Bullshit.”

“He does,” Uhura’s tears seemed to be running dry - she wiped at her eyes with both hands, sniffling a little before she next spoke. The look that she turned upon Kirk was resigned; defeated. “I think I figured it out before he did. I’ve known for a long time, but I had hoped …” she trailed off, swallowing hard and blinking back yet more tears. “I had _hoped-_ ” she eventually ground out, “-that maybe he’d get over it, or that I was wrong, or he’d just, I don’t know, suppress it somehow … but now I understand.”

There was a long, long pause. Uhura was looking at him. There was something expectant in her face, but Kirk didn’t know what she wanted him to say. He wished that he did. All he could think of was that she was wrong. He knew Spock. There was _no way_ what she was saying could be true.

“You’re wrong,” he heard himself say. “There’s no way Spock wou-”

He was cut off by the feel of lips pressing against his.

If Kirk had been surprised when he had been kissed by Spock, he was more so now. But he was also more aware of what was happening. Uhura was kissing him. _Uhura_ was kissing him. She was in his body, using his lips, closing his vivid blue eyes, tilting his blond head just so. She was using _his_ hand to gently stroke up his arm, squeezing on his bicep, making his skin shiver into goosebumps.

It was … sweet, but not gentle. _Insistent_ was the word. Kirk had the impression that there was some very important message that she was trying to convey, but she might as well have been speaking Klingon for all the good it did him. Whatever that message was it went right over his head.

The kiss ended. Their lips parted, and Uhura sat back.

Kirk opened his mouth - but, once again, no sound. This was becoming a _thing._

“I’m sorry it took me so long to see what it was he saw in you.” Then Uhura dropped her face into her hands, clearly wiping away tears again. “This is so _fucked up.”_

Before he could agree, or ask her what the hell had just happened, Kirk’s communicator whistled. Feeling like he ought to pinch himself, just to make sure that the last … ten? twenty? however many minutes wasn’t some weird dream, he picked it up from where he’d left it sitting on the floor and flicked it open.

“Kirk here.”

“Jim,” Spock’s deep voice seemed to hang in the air between Kirk and Uhura. “Are you available to join Mr Scott and I in the Briefing Room? If I may use a human expression, there is good news and there is bad news.”

Half an hour later, Kirk and Uhura (both having used the sonic and changed into clean uniforms) met Spock, Scotty and Sulu in the Captain’s Briefing Room. Kirk’s eyes were immediately drawn to a small, charred lump, burnt stubs of wire sticking out of it in all directions, that was sitting in the middle of the table. Spock’s eyes darted between Kirk and Uhura as they entered the room, clearly sensing something was off from their demeanor or stance, or perhaps from some minute facial expression or innate Vulcan sense. Whatever the case, he made no comment on the matter.

It was Scotty who spoke once Kirk and Uhura had taken their seats. “Captain, Lieutenant … well, here’s the rub. Mr Spock and Ah have worked out what went wrong and we’ve worked out how to fix it. But we cannae do it without a replacement for that.” He pointed at the sad, clearly useless lump of plastic.

“Ah’ve tried many a time to jury rig a spare from what we’ve got on board, but they’re no’ standing up to the tests Mr Spock and Ah have run. It’s a small but vital component of the system that stabilises the flow of molecules through the transporter. It’s shorting out was what caused the two of ye to materialise incorrectly, and Ah _need_ it to put ye back in the right bodies. Without it, Ah don’t dare send a livin’ being through the transporter, ‘cause God knows what’ll happen.”

“So …” Kirk swallowed, his throat dry. “Are you saying that you can’t fix us? Because we don’t have another one of …” he gestured vaguely in the direction of the charcoalised transporter part, “... those?”

Spock leaned forward, his hands clasped on the table in front of him. “Acting Captain Sulu and I have devised a plan to acquire the necessary transporter component. We are, at present, precisely 2.3249 hours away from a Class M planet known to be the site of an Orion-run black market. We should be able to acquire an adequate replacement there. The undertaking of such a mission, however, will be extremely dangerous. Any Starfleet personnel setting foot on that planet run the risk of capture and enslavement at the hands of the Orions. Which is why I shall be leading the landing party personally.”

“Spock!” Kirk burst out, at the same moment as Uhura gasped “No!”

“You can’t!” Kirk rose from his chair, leaning over the table. “You know as well as anyone else in this room, Spock - _better, even_ \- that your people have become a prized commodity in slave markets across the galaxy since the destruction of Vulcan. The risks to you, personally, are far greater than they would be to anyone else on board this ship. Uhura and I can wait. We’ll manage. Who knows, a chance to get another one of - whatever that is - might even crop up before we get back to Earth. _You don’t need to do this.”_

“Spock, _listen_ to him.” Uhura’s hands were clenched in her lap. _“Please._ You know he’s right. It’s too unsafe for you down there.”

Sulu cleared his throat. “Actually, Lieutenant, you’ll be going too. I know that you’re technically off the roster, but the number of alien languages and dialects that you are fully fluent in cannot be equalled by any other communications officer aboard this ship. I know, I’ve checked. And Spock and I have already had this argument; he says if you go, he goes.”

“Then I go too.” Kirk righted himself, crossed his arms over his chest. “This is ridiculous. In what universe am I the one who has to tell _you_ that the likelihood of this all ending in disaster is too damn high?”

“Jim-”

 _“No._ I’m going, if I have to keelhaul myself on a fucking shuttlecraft to do it.”

“Told you he’d say that.” Scotty muttered quietly in his seat.

“You never used the word ‘keelhauled’,” Sulu replied without missing a beat. Then he sighed. “Look, Cap- Jim. If you want to go I won’t stop you. You’re probably the only person on the ship who can speak Orion as fluently as Uhura. And Scotty’s going too, because you’re going to need him to make sure you get the right part. And that means that four of the top ranking officers aboard this ship - four of the most celebrated heroes in Starfleet - are all going to be running around on a planet where I don’t have jurisdiction to just come in guns blazing if something goes wrong, and if one or all of you doesn’t make it back then it’s _my_ ass on the line, and I know you understand what a difficult situation this puts me in, and I know that you’ll do the right thing _and make sure that everyone comes back safe and sound._ Understood? That’s an order.”

Kirk blinked. He sighed, his shoulders slumping. Not being Captain _sucked._ He sort of wished Sulu would just torpedo this whole stupid idea while it was still in the water, because the thought of what might happen if Spock should fall into the hands of the Orions was making the bile rise in his throat - he’d seen the reports. But, at the same time, he understood that everyone here was just trying to do the right thing by their friends. And if that meant risking life and limb, then so be it. Because that’s what he would do too.

Kirk sighed, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. He could feel the beginnings of a _really_ bad headache starting. He would have to see Dr McCoy after this.

“Okay then. _Fine._ When do we leave?”

“In 5 hours time, Jim.” Spock answered smoothly, as if all the shouting and swearing had never happened. “Acting Captain Sulu and I have preparations to finalise. I would suggest that the rest of you try and rest.” His eyes swept over Kirk and Uhura. “You appear exhausted. It would be less than wise to undertake such a dangerous task operating at anything less than maximum efficiency.”

The meeting dissolved. Scotty hurried off back to Engineering, muttering about this, that and the other thing. Spock and Sulu left for the Bridge, heads down, talking seriously together. Kirk and Uhura were left standing awkwardly together in the corridor. Finally, Kirk broke the silence.

“I’ve gotta swing by Sickbay and get something for a headache. I guess I’ll see you in 5 hours?”

Uhura opened her mouth, like she was going to say something, then evidently thought better of it. Instead, she simply nodded and walked away. Kirk stared after her until she turned a corner and was out of sight, then sighed, rubbing tiredly at the sore spot between his eyes as he headed down to Sickbay.

He told Dr McCoy what they were planning, of course. He had expected his usually hot-tempered friend to rage and rant and carry on - there was even a part of him that was hoping for it, hoping that maybe McCoy would pull out the old “I’m-the-CMO’ card and veto the whole thing, thereby keeping Spock (and the rest of them) safely aboard the ship. But the old country doctor merely gave him a deeply serious look, gripped him tightly by the shoulder and made him promise to come back safe - and bring ‘that damned fool hobgoblin’ back with him.

Kirk had nodded silently, clapped McCoy on the shoulder, and taken his leave.

When he got to his quarters, the analgesic McCoy had given him already washing his headache away, he collapsed onto his bed with a sigh. Sparring had left him tired and aching. The conversation with Uhura, the subsequent ‘kiss’ and everything that had happened since had him feeling sick to his stomach. Spock was right. He needed to rest and try and get some of his equilibrium back. He needed to be at his best, or he would be placing his friends in danger.

He closed his eyes …

oOo

The music was pumping. It was easy and laid back, but had some _swing_ to it. He wasn’t really listening. This was because standing in the dimly lit bar, in a small circle cleared of the chattering, dancing crowd, was Spock. The blue glow seeping out of the walls and the leathery looking booths and from the lights under the bar slid cooly over his pale skin and shone in his raven-dark hair. He looked impossibly, incredibly, tantalisingly _alien_ and it was all that Kirk could do to keep himself from drooling all over the floor.

He was there, chest-to-chest with Spock, though he didn’t remember crossing the room. The crowd ignored them as he backed the Vulcan up to an empty table, hands all over, running up and down, clenching in the fabric of his science blues. They were making out, with a ferocity and passion that he now knew Spock possessed. Kirk used his teeth, nipping at the full swell of Spock’s lip, nibbling along his jaw, swiping his tongue along one of those oh-so-very-sexy eyebrows.

He pushed Spock up on the table, and they were naked now, skin-on-skin contact. _Oh god, but it was heaven!_ Spock’s legs were on either side of him and he pushed the Vulcan back, seized his hips. Blue and black shadows chased themselves along the well-defined curves of Spock’s muscled chest, dipping teasingly in and out of the hollows. The room smelled like beer and sex. Kirk’s heart was pounding out of time with the music, beating so hard against his rib cage that he thought it might just burst right out of him. He watched in open-mouthed wonder as the Vulcan’s head lolled back in bliss, eyes fluttering closed as Kirk pushed inside.

Kirk thrust, but the body below him was different. Pale skin darkened to chocolate brown. Lean, lithe abdominal muscles gave way to a taut, toned belly and pert, round breasts. Long, strong legs wrapped around his hips, pulling him in closer, and Uhura’s wickedly-tipped silver nails dug deep into his shoulders as she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him back in for a heated kiss …

The buzzing of the intercom awoke him. He grumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he sat up. Spock’s voice came from the other side of his door.

“Jim? Are you awake? We will be boarding the shuttle _Galileo_ to take us down to the planet in precisely 15 minutes.”

“Yeah, yeah! I’m awake.” Kirk bounced out of bed. “Hold up!” he crossed the room in two quick strides and pressed the button to open the door. Spock regarded him evenly from his position in the hallway, his science blues and regulation black trousers replaced with unremarkable dark grey garments, trousers and a long coat with a hood that could be pulled up to cover his tell-tale Vulcan ears and upswept eyebrows. He pressed a neatly folded bundle of similar clothing into Kirk’s arms. Kirk clutched it against his chest, but otherwise forgot about it - he had more pressing issues on his mind.

“Are you sure you won’t reconsider? I know I can’t order you to stay behind at the moment, but I have a _bad_ feeling about this, Spock. I know you’re worried about Uhura, but I’ll look out for her, I promise. The three of us will be in and out before you know it.”

“Jim,” Spock’s voice and eyes were gentle. “It is not only Nyota for whom I am worried. Both you and she have been put on medical leave for a reason - but I cannot fault Acting Captain Sulu’s logic that you are the two _Enterprise_ crew members most suited for this task. It is my intention to ensure that _both_ of you return safely - and Mr Scott too, of course.”

Kirk stuck out his chin. “Uhura and I are fine. We’ve both become accustomed to the new bodies in which we are residing, and have kept ourselves fit and combat ready. You and I both know that the only reason Bones has kept us both on medical leave is that because he thinks he’s doing us both a favour - letting us have some R&R during an otherwise stressful time. We don’t need to be babysat.”

“Jim,” Spock sounded very serious - well, he _always_ sounded serious, but this was especially so. He reached out and put his hand on Kirk’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “I could not bear it if any harm should befall you, any more so than I could bear harm befalling Nyota. This is the best opportunity we are likely to be presented with to source the requisite part to effect your cure. Ideally, I should have liked both of you to remain behind on the ship, where your safety is assured. I want to protect you - and I understand that you feel the same way in regards to my safety.” His eyes were boring into Kirk’s. “But I also know that neither you nor I - or Nyota - are people who can sit by and let others take risks on their behalf. I would not have it any differently. Now, let’s go and get this over with.”

Kirk blinked as Spock let go of his shoulder and, turning smartly on his heel, walked away down the corridor. Shaking his head, Kirk trotted after him.

Scotty and Uhura were ready and waiting in the _Galileo_ when Spock and Kirk arrived. Uhura was in the pilot’s seat. Kirk nodded to them both silently and took a seat. Everyone but Kirk was already changed, though the clothes worn by Uhura and Scotty were a dark brown in colour.

Kirk barely registered the routine steps of launching the shuttlecraft and leaving the docking bay. Once they were smoothly underway he rose discreetly from his seat and slipped to the back of the shuttle to change. The coarse material was scratchy against his skin, and smelt oddly musty. Kirk wrinkled his nose but made no comment as he slipped back into his seat.

A few minutes later they were touching lightly down on a barren, arid plain, their shuttle conveniently concealed from view behind a rocky outcropping. All systems clearly showed the haphazardly sprawling tent-city half a click away.

Kirk opened the shuttle-craft door, squinting a little against the bright glare reflecting off the orange-hued sand. There was an odd green tint to the sky.

“Okay, everybody,” he said. “Let’s go.”

**_To Be Continued ..._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. The assertion that Kirk speaks Orion is from the Star Trek movie novelization/tie-in whatever-you-call-it, where, in Chapter 5, Uhura starts bitching to Gaila about Kirk in 'Orion Prime'. She then tells Kirk - in English - to put his pants on. Kirk then tells Uhura that he would, except she's standing on them - in Orion Prime.
> 
> In the Star Trek Novel 'That Which Divides' by Dayton Ward (at least, I'm pretty sure it was that one, please let me know if I'm wrong) Uhura does some shuttle piloting. I liked this idea, and decided to run with it ...


	5. The Chapter with the Action!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it has been a while since I've updated, hasn't it? I am very sorry about that. I had a bit of trouble with it - I think the cumulative angst is starting to get to me!
> 
> Oh, and there's no sex in this chapter, for which I am, again, very sorry.

The air shimmered from the heat as they picked their way across the treacherously shifting orange sands, their leg muscles straining within moments of leaving the shuttlecraft. Kirk was instantly running with sweat. Ahead of them the sprawling mass of tents, cages and auctioneers’ platforms rippled and danced from the distortion in the air.

Kirk had made his peace with this mission during the shuttle ride down. Emotional turmoil - like his world was shifting beneath him, just like the sand underfoot was doing now - had made him high strung, and fear for those he loved had made him hostile. He had yelled and sworn in the Briefing Room because he was scared for Spock, and didn’t want the Vulcan to risk himself just for _him._ He wasn’t worth it. Uhura might be, but he didn’t want Spock to risk himself for her either - and he was pretty sure that she’d agree.

The thing, he recognised now that his fear and anger had cooled, was that they _needed_ to do this for other reasons too. There was more at stake than he and Uhura’s discomfort at being in the wrong bodies, however severe that discomfit might be. Without that part the _Enterprise_ had no operational transporter. That was a _serious_ hazard, as well as a damn inconvenience. This had to be done, would have had to be done anyway, even if he and Uhura had managed to make it back through the transporter unscathed before it broke down. He would not have hesitated to come down in those circumstances - and though he probably would have wanted Spock to stay on board, he also recognised that he probably wouldn’t be carrying quite the same level of guilt at the idea of the Vulcan being in danger if he was not a direct cause of the mission.

That did not mean, though, that his heart wasn’t in his throat the whole time they trudged across the sands. It was an unpleasant change from the usual thrill of adrenaline he felt when undertaking a dangerous mission.

His concern for Spock was also not the only reason that, in spite of all his training on how to do so, he was having trouble concentrating on the task before him. He could not help but keep replaying the conversation that had ended in Uhura kissing him over and over in his head; the words repeating in his own voice: _Spock has feelings for someone else. I’m sorry it took me so long to see what it is he saw in you._

It was like someone had hacked into Kirk’s mind and crashed the system. He could not seem to move past those two statements. No matter how hard he tried to make sense of them any other way, he kept finding himself presented with the same conclusion.

_Uhura thinks Spock has feelings for me._

They kept their hoods up as they crossed over into the outer-edges of the market, more for the concealment it afforded than the meagre protection from the UV rays beating down on them. Kirk had read about places like this, but he’d never actually seen one before. The reality was far, far worse than what was presented on padd.

It was the smell that Kirk noticed first. There were people _everywhere_ \- all sorts of people, humanoid or otherwise. Some of them were in cages. The mingled smells coming off of the crowd - the _stench_ from the unwashed bodies of the slaves languishing in their cages, twisting with the sickly sweet smells of perfume from those looking to buy them - mixed with the mouth-watering scents of hot, sizzling meats and stone-baked breads and a hundred other assorted goodies being vended to the crowd. There were hints of wine and spices and engine oils. Overlaying it all was the musk of the Orions and the nose-burning tincture of scorching hot sand.

Then there was the noise. _That_ was what Kirk would remember the longest. It was the most chaotic, eclectic, jumbled cacophony that the young starship captain had ever heard. It was like a constant, low roar against the ear, except that individual sounds were constantly rising above the din - a sob, a scream, a lustful moan, the brazen calls of the sellers hawking their wares. A sudden tinkling of wind chimes from some undefined point. The crack of an electric whip, the sharp, rending bang of a metal cage door, the sizzle of a strip of meat laid on the griddle. Kirk could practically _feel_ the waves of noise washing over him, making the hairs on the back of his neck and his arms stand on end, and his skin twitch and shiver with goosebumps. It was the stuff of nightmares.

What really got to Kirk in the moment, however - what made his body tense and his blood rush with rage, his stomach roil with disgust and his heart ache with sorrow - were the faces. Humans, Klingons, Andorians, Deltans, Romulans, Denobulans, Tellarites, Gorn. Whether furred or feathered, scaled or snouted, ridged skin or smooth, no matter what hue, the terrified, hopeless expression on slave after slave seemed burned on the inside of Kirk’s eyelids. Each time his line of sight landed on an Orion slaver, their corpulent green faces with their obscene metallic piercings twisted in a porcine sneer, or on one of the buyers, totally, utterly, obliviously indifferent to the suffering going on all around them, Kirk had to fight down the urge to start beating somebody, and not stop until his knuckles were bruised and bleeding and his victim nothing but pulp.

As they passed an auctioneer’s platform where a child was being led on stage, her blue face streaked with tears and one of her antennae obviously broken, Kirk almost faltered, was almost consumed by rage. He stumbled to a halt … and felt Spock’s warning touch against his back. Glancing back, he saw Spock and Uhura holding hands tightly, Scotty’s pale face bearing a Vulcan-like green tinge as he carried up the rear. Swallowing the bile rising in his throat, Kirk exhaled his anger as best he could and pressed on, stiff-legged and barely able to hide his shaking.

The sun beat down on them, hot and dry, as they made their way down aisle after aisle of market stalls, past tents and pavilions and even an arena. They saw everything on sale, from illegally obtained weapons to stolen dilithium; opiates and intoxicants to illegally transported alien creatures.

But no starship parts.

It was the same thing down the next row, and the next row after that. Kirk ground his teeth together, a steady throbbing building up in his temples. Every muscle, every nerve felt as if it were stretched taut, as if he might just snap at any moment. This place was _getting to him._

“Hey there, Handsome. How about you buy me, and then you and I can have some fun?”

Kirk turned his head at the sound of the sultry purr. The air here was particularly thick and cloying in a way that made Kirk _desperately_ want to punch somebody- they were walking right past a cage containing several Orion females. He knew all about their ‘secret’ musk - evolved to lure in hapless males, whatever their species, and befuddle both their senses and their wits with a blast of intoxicating pheromones. Kirk remembered it well, even though Gaila had never tried to actively use it on him. But now, even though the smell was the same, a subtle blend of sweat and sex and something sweetly spicy, like sandalwood, it made him feel … irritable. Headachy. Even sick. _Of course._ He was in a female body now, not his own.

One particular Orion who was leaning against the bars, her voluptuous assets barely contained by a brassiere as brilliantly red as her lips, had reached out with a vibrantly green arm and snagged a hold of Uhura’s sleeve as she walked past - in Kirk’s body. Uhura’s borrowed blue eyes were barely focused, her mouth was hanging open and her cheeks were flushed a compelling pink. Behind her, Scotty seemed similarly afflicted. Kirk felt a stab of annoyance, quickly followed by alarm. Spock must have felt it too, because he gave a tug on Uhura’s hand, which he was still holding, pulling her closer to him. Kirk vaguely remembered Gaila once saying that Vulcans were immune to an Orion’s charms, and fervently hoped that this was, in fact, the case. Uhura’s sleeve was pulled free of the Orion’s grasp.

The Orion responded with a pretty pout and a flutter of her insanely long eyelashes. She tossed her waist-length sultry tumble of black curls over her shoulder with a huff, crossing her arms under her breasts so that they were pushed even further up. Kirk couldn’t help but notice that she had long, red-painted fingernails that made Uhura’s silver claws look tame in comparison.

“Aww, don’t be like that. I only want to play. I’m _so_ bored and lonely in here.”

The alien made a show of being upset, which was little more than an excuse to pout some more and wiggle herself around provocatively. One of her fellows sashayed over to join her - alike to her as a twin, but with lipstick and scanty matching coverings of purple. The newcomer pressed herself up against the bars, grasping them with both hands, conveniently framing her overflowing cleavage between them … and then paused, her head cocked to one side.

“You have a familiar face, Handsome,” she declared, her eyes flicking from Uhura-in-Kirk’s-body to Spock. “Are you sure we haven’t met before?”

Kirk had to stop this exchange - it was too dangerous. Sure, they might be standing in a slave cage awaiting sale, but these Orions were no slaves. They were front-line soldiers, mistresses of espionage, sold onto ship after ship under the flimsy guise of being sex slaves with a carnal appetite so large that they could never be anything but eager - only to incapacitate the ship’s crew and make it easy prey for their comrades stalking along behind. They would be perceptive, wily and would think fast on their feet. Every moment spent under their scrutiny was a moment they were in danger of being caught out.

Kirk had to do something - he had to get the group moving again - but he didn’t want to look suspicious, either.

“Don’t bother,” he said to the Orion in red. He stepped forward, subtly giving Spock a light kick on the ankle to get him moving as he did so. Kirk himself took Scotty by the arm, giving him a tug. “We haven’t got the money for the likes of you. Save your breath for the next fat Tellarite that comes along.”

The first Orion, the one in red, looked him up and down. Kirk-in-Uhura’s-body wasn’t wearing her usual make up, and hadn’t done anything with her hair other than sweep it into a simple ponytail at the nape of her neck. The garments he was wearing had been chosen because they were non-descript, not because they were glamorous. The Orion woman smirked, her lips twisting sassily.

“Are you sure that’s the reason you don’t want us on board?” she asked, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger.

Kirk made a show of harrumphing as he chivvied the landing party away from the cage. If the Orions thought that he was just a jealous woman threatened by their undeniable sex appeal then all the better. He glanced back as they stumbled away down the aisle. The Orion in red had already lost interest in them and turned away - but her colleague in purple was still watching them, her vibrantly painted eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“I think we’ve been made, Spock,” Kirk whispered as they hurried past a stall where a plump, balding man was desperately extolling the virtues of Tribbles to the crowd, whilst the stall behind him creaked and groaned under the ever-increasing weight of a vast pile of the fluffballs. “We may have to forget that part and go-”

At that moment, Scotty, who was acting like a man waking from a long sleep, shook his head, blinked dazedly and pointed at a stall right down the end of the row. “Look, sir! Starship parts!”

Kirk exhaled. “Okay. Scotty, go see if they’ve got what we need. _Quickly.”_

The vendor did _not_ have the part that they needed, being mostly in the business of reclaimed scout ship bits, but he gave them directions to another stall several rows over where he said they might be able to get what they needed. On the walk there, Spock gently reached out and touched Kirk on the shoulder.

“Don’t turn around, Jim,” the Vulcan murmured, “but I believe that we are being followed.”

“Orion?”

“Yes. Currently three stalls behind us. He has remained in our general vicinity since shortly after our confrontation with the Orion females. I believe I saw him speak into a communicator.”

“Shit.”

They reached the stall. An old, scowling Klingon - who seemed to be missing one or two parts himself - slouched moodily behind an impressive metallic jumble. Scotty tried to speak to him, but he just spat and grumbled in his own language, so Uhura started to translate. Kirk tried to look like he was busy examining the parts on the table, whilst surreptitiously scanning the surrounding crowd.

The Orion Spock had spotted- an unremarkable looking fellow by the standards of his race - he only had one piece of metal sticking out of his head - was apparently absorbed in studying a wicked-looking display of knives and blades across the way and a few stalls down. To Kirk’s dismay, though, two more Orions had appeared from the other direction. To the untrained eye they _appeared_ to be sauntering casually through the market, stopping to look at this and that. One had the alien equivalent of a shish kebab in his hand, which dribbled oily juices down his chin with every slobbering, slavering bite. But Kirk’s eyes _were_ trained, and this trio weren’t trying terribly hard to disguise their intentions. They kept _looking_ at the landing party in obvious ways …

It didn’t matter if this particular group turned out to be a bit amateurish at tailing, though. They were positively _surrounded_ by experienced, _capable_ slavers. Draw attention to themselves and they were done.

The old Klingon grunted and, after a little fishing around, pulled a small, rectangular part out of a bin behind his table. Scotty nodded eagerly, telling Uhura to tell the Klingon that was what they wanted. Uhura did so, and the Klingon started to haggle.

“Whatever ridiculous thing he wants, give it to him,” Kirk hissed under his breath. “We need to get out of here _now.”_

Uhura visibly winced at something the Klingon said, causing Kirk’s nose to wrinkle as the battered old bastard howled with laughter, revealing rotten teeth. “He says he wants _you_ , Kirk - that is, he wants my body. The things he just said are obscene.”

“Well, tell him he can’t afford me, unless he’s got a whole starship hidden back there that he’s willing to trade. We haven’t got time for this - we’re about to be flanked!”

Uhura turned back to the Klingon. Kirk didn’t know if she repeated back to him what he had said, but it made the Klingon laugh harder. When Kirk shot him an annoyed glare the Klingon responded by blowing him (or, to the Klingon’s eyes, her) a big, sloppy kiss. He did, however, seem to settle down to business after that, haggling back and forth with Uhura.

Finally, an agreement was reached. Kirk felt like a wire pulled taut, just waiting to snap. Scotty handed the Klingon a number of chips loaded up with credits, which the Klingon ran over a scanner to verify before grunting with satisfaction and handing Scotty the small, ignominious looking part.

The quartet wasted no time in turning away and making for the edge of the market. Kirk expected to be stopped at any moment, to have a big, green hand descend on his shoulder, to hear the hue and cry start up behind them, as they walked along as fast as they possibly could without looking like they were in a hurry.

“Spock?” Kirk muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

“There are three Orions following us. Having had time to observe their dress and mannerisms, I would observe that they are likely more used to thuggery than true slaving and pillaging. I would surmise that they are waiting for us to leave the market, at which time they will attempt to capture us, without risking their prize being stolen by a more formidable opponent.”

They had left the _Galileo_ hidden a good distance from the edge of the market, not wanting it to be observed. That didn’t seem like such a wise decision now.

“Okay,” Kirk breathed out slowly. “Okay. We can’t let them follow us out of this place.” He spied a pair of Tellarites a short way up ahead, arguing heatedly over something-or-other - probably whether or not the sky was green. Tellarites _loved_ to argue. “I’m gonna drop behind. You guys keep going - do your best to disappear into the crowd. Get to the _Galileo_ , and have her ready to take off. I’ll catch up with you there.”

“Jim-” Spock began. He, Scotty and Uhura were all looking at Kirk with wide, frightened eyes. Well, not so much Spock, but Kirk saw the glint of fear there all the same. Their faces were pale, but from the grimly determined expressions there, all three were getting ready to argue.

 _“Trust me._ Please? I’ve pulled this move before, back on Earth when I was a kid. It’ll be easier for me if I don’t have to worry about what you guys are doing or where you are. But I also need you to keep the Orions from realising that I’m not walking with you for a minute or two - can you do that for me, Spock? Scotty? Uhura?”

Spock exhaled, exchanged a troubled glance with Uhura. But then he nodded. “Of course, Jim. We will cover your disappearance.”

Kirk didn’t bother asking the Vulcan what he meant to do. If Spock said he would stop the Orions from seeing Kirk disappear from right under their noses, then the Orions wouldn’t see Kirk disappear from right under their noses. And Kirk had his own role to worry about.

As they strode past the Tellarites, Kirk ducked to the side, feigning interest in the alien whatever-those-were on the stall in front of him, but, most importantly shielding himself from their Orion tail’s view with the Tellarites’ bristly bulk. The two hog-like aliens were too busy with their argument to pay any attention to Kirk.

Employing a skill that he hadn’t had cause to use since before his academy days, Kirk slipped his hand into the Tellarite’s wide coat pocket and deftly stole his wallet.

The other three had pulled if off, the Orions seemed totally oblivious to Kirk’s having left the group as they drew level with the Tellarites. Kirk breathed in deeply, let it out again - and stepped out straight into the lead Orion’s path.

He was prepared for the jolt when the alien, easily two or three times the size of Uhura, barged right into him. Faster than the eye could blink, he grabbed the Orion’s arm, pulling it into position so that it looked like the Orion had tried to reach into his pocket. At the same time, with his other hand, he stashed a wallet in the _Orion’s_ pocket - the Tellarite’s. 

“Hey!” Kirk cried out angrily, as loud as he could. Uhura’s clear, high voice carried wonderfully, drawing eyes from every direction. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Startled, the Orion sputtered and snarled. He shoved Kirk-in-Uhura’s body away from him, snatching his arm back. Kirk stumbled back, almost sent sprawling on his ass from the substantial force of the shove - but he didn’t let that stop him for an instant. “Thief!” He shrilled at the top of his lungs. “Thief! This piece of shit just tried to pick my pocket!”

The murmur of the crowd - nothing draws a crowd, alien or otherwise, like a good bit of drama - filled Kirk’s ears. The other two Orions, standing behind the one that Kirk had grabbed, looked decidedly uncomfortable with all the attention. Their companion was too angrily fixated on Kirk to notice. His features twisted in an enraged snarl as he drew back his arm, in what Kirk knew was sure to be a skull-splitting slap.

The arm began to fall. Kirk didn’t flinch. He didn’t need to - before the Orion could touch him its swing was jerked short as it’s arm was caught in a hoof-like hand.

The Tellarites, startled out of their argument by the explosion of shouting and accusations that had happened right beside them, had, naturally, checked their pockets. From the angry scowl on the snout of the one holding the Orion, he had discovered he was no longer in possession of his possessions.

“Turn out your pockets,” it grunted, letting go of the Orion’s arm to shove him in the shoulder instead. The Orion opened his mouth to argue - then stopped when the Tellarite’s companion pulled out a phaser. “Turn out your pockets!” the pig-like alien insisted, its voice becoming something more like a squeal as it got louder.

The Orion exchanged a look with his two fellows - half helpless fury, half embarrassed trepidation. He reached into his own pockets. Kirk saw, with some satisfaction, the moment when his fingers contacted the wallet Kirk had planted on him. The Orion’s green face fell. He pulled it out, staring at it in dumb surprise.

The Tellarite, recognising its own property, squealed in outrage. Kirk quietly, carefully started to withdraw from the proceeding show. The argumentative alien from Tellar Prime was not about to let the Orion go without causing a substantial scene. Its companion got in on the action, and the Orion’s two friends jumped in to defend him. There was shouting, snarling, squealing and shoving. One of the Orions was pushed heavily into a nearby stall, knocking aside a table top and scattering its burdens hither and yon. The outraged vendor started ranting and raving, waving his fists about, and everything looked to be shaping up perfectly to erupt into a good-old fashioned, all-out brawl.

It didn’t quite work out to plan, though. Kirk had made it all the way to the end of the aisle of stalls before an incensed shout rang out behind him. “Where’s she going?” one of the Orions roared. “Get her!” howled another.

Kirk bolted. He didn’t look back to see how many were pursuing him - that was a sure fire way to trip yourself up. He pelted between the stalls, dodging and weaving through the crowd, his hood blown back, his coat tails and Uhura’s hair streaming out behind him. Once he even leapt over a small cart that got in his way, the frightened squeak of the alien pushing it ringing loud in his ears.

Still louder, though, was the sound of his pursuers.

Kirk raced around a corner and dove for cover beneath a faded tent. Crawling on his belly in the sand and the dust he slunk along several stalls that way, staying hidden between boxes and crates and the faded canvas behind them. It was too risky to go far in this manner however, and as soon as he thought he could do so without being spotted, he slipped back out into the crowd, his hood back up, doing his best to look like nothing more than just another bystander, curious as to the ruckus going on at the crossroads down the other end of the row.

A few minutes of carefully - oh so very carefully! - picking his way through the crowd had him at the edge of the market, the endless seas of orange sand stretching out before him. He could just make out the rocky outcropping behind which they’d hidden the _Galileo_ in the distance.

He stepped out onto the sandy plain …. and was wrenched around, spun down to the ground, from the force of the large green hand, with fingers the size of sausages, that slammed down on his shoulder.

Kirk grunted as he hit the ground on his back. He kicked out instinctively, but the glancing blow to his knee did little to discomfit the winded but still menacing looking Orion looming over him. Kirk didn’t know where it’s two friends were. He tried to kick him again, but only really succeeded in propelling himself along the sandy ground.

“You’re going to be sorry you did that,” the alien told him with a leer. Kirk didn’t know whether he meant the kick or the pickpocket set up. The green-skinned alien bent down, it’s arm reaching out to grab him … Kirk scrabbled to try and get up, to get out of reach …

All of a sudden the Orion’s face contorted weirdly. His eyes crossed and his lips drooped and then he just … fell over. Kirk blinked, his brain taking a moment to process what had happened - then he was looking at a hand. Not a green one this time. A pinky-golden one. _His own_ hand.

Spock and Uhura were standing over him.

“Get up, get up, get up,” Uhura hissed at him as she and Spock hauled him to his feet. Without a moment to lose the three of them set off towards the _Galileo_ at as fast a pace as they could manage in the shifting, sliding sand.

“Vulcan nerve pinch?” Kirk gasped out as they scurried along. “And I thought I told you to get to the _Galileo?”_

“Might I remind you, Jim, that whilst you have been temporarily reinstated as fit-for-duty, you have not, in actual fact, been restored to the rank of captain? Moreover, as it is I who am in command of this mission, it is _you_ who should be obeying _my_ orders? In any case, we sent Mr Scott ahead to ready the _Galileo_ for take off.” Spock was having an easier time of traversing the desert landscape than his two human companions, and offered either of them a hand wherever he could. “I do not have sufficient data from which to draw an adequate hypothesis as to the effect of a nerve pinch on Orion anatomy. I cannot say how much time we have before your assailant awakens.”

“Why aren’t you out of breath?” Kirk grumped as stumbled, twisting an ankle slightly. Spock’s reply was lost in the sudden roaring of outrage behind them. All three glanced back over their shoulders to see the trio of Orions pounding out of the market onto the sand. They were not alone. Moreover, a bright, glancing beam lanced out of the mob and struck the ground mere inches from Uhura’s foot, causing the granules of sand to melt and smoke.

They had phasers.

“Go, go, go, _GO!”_ shouted Kirk as the three of them took off again.

There was no talking this time. The sounds of their laboured breathing, the rushing of blood in his ears and the impossibly loud pounding of his heart all but drowned out the sound of the angry mob behind them for Kirk. Every so often the sand beside them would spit and sizzle as they were just missed by a phaser.

The rocky outcropping drew closer and closer. They reached the base of it, raced around, to where Scotty had the _Galileo_ idling, the door raised. Kirk could see the Scotsman hanging out the door, beckoning to them frantically, and yelling “Ach, come on! They’re right behind ye!” at the top of his voice. A phaser flared overheard, striking the side of the shuttlecraft not far from Scotty’s head, causing the engineer to flinch and duck back inside.

Kirk reached the _Galileo_ and vaulted through the open door. He turned to offer his hand to Uhura, who was hot on his heels. Over her shoulder, movement caught his eye. One of the Orions, the one whose pocket he had picked, was cocking his head, taking aim ….

Kirk barely had time to yell “Look ou-” before the brilliant light of the phaser blast was racing towards them.

Everything happened so fast. Kirk’s world tilted, as Uhura, in his body, fell forward on top of him. They hit the shuttlecraft floor with a _thud_ that knocked the wind out of Kirk. For the briefest of moments Kirk thought that she’d been hit by the phaser - her eyes were wide, horrified - but then she twisted on top of him, frantically scrambling to get back to her feet.

“Spock!” she cried out, and the agony in her voice cut through Kirk like a knife.

The Vulcan was sprawled in the doorway, head and shoulders in the shuttlecraft but the rest of him dangling out the door. There was an ominous curl of dark smoke rising from the singed and blackened ruin of his back.

Uhura was sobbing as she got to him, grabbing a hold of his arm and trying to pull him all the way into the shuttle as a triumphant shout came from outside. Kirk surged to his feet and flung himself forward to help her. “Scotty, go, go, go _now!”_ he cried as, between the two of them they managed to heave Spock through the doorway. The Vulcan groaned faintly, his eyes screwed closed and his body a dead weight. Kirk’s heart was in his mouth as he looked over his First Officer’s injured back - though it perhaps wasn’t as bad as he had first feared. A lot of the charred black that he had glimpsed was, on closer inspection, the remnants of Spock’s now demised science blues, but there was still a lot of stomach-churning raw, exposed green. There was also a vivid green cut just above Spock’s right eye, dissecting one of his upswept eyebrows. A steady flow of vivid green dripped from it. The matching smear on the side of the door showed that Vulcan had hit his head there when his body was snapped forward by the phaser blast.

The _Galileo_ lifted into the air. The next moment she rocked, and alarms started blaring. Kirk, Uhura and the barely conscious Spock were sent tumbling against the wall, which was in danger of becoming the floor. At the helm, Scotty was swearing as only an engineer and a scotsman could. He wrenched the shuttle sideways with a great shout of “Gerroff, ya bastard!” There was a horrific metallic screech as the _Galileo_ scraped across the rocky outcropping, that didn’t quite manage to drown out the agonised cry of the alien that had managed to leap up and grab a hold of their landing gear, and all of a sudden the extra weight they were dragging was gone and the shuttle wobbled upright.

Kirk pulled himself upright and helped Uhura untangle herself from Spock. The Vulcan appeared to now be out cold. “He’ll be okay,” Kirk heard himself say to her, but it was more like a prayer than a statement of fact. “We just have to get him to Bones, and then he’ll be okay.”

He glanced up at Scotty just in time to see the engineer glance back at _him_ , his face pale and worried. “Get us to the _Enterprise_ as fast as you can, Scotty.” Kirk half ordered, half-begged. Scotty nodded grimly, muttering an “Aye, sir,” as he turned back to the viewscreen.

Uhura sat cradling Spock’s head in her lap, weeping silently as she stroked his hair. The normally perfectly straight strands were getting all messed up every time her hand passed over them.

“He’ll be okay,” Kirk reiterated hollowly as he knelt beside them, feeling useless; helpless. “This is _nothing_ to Bones - he’ll be okay.” Uhura nodded silent agreement, but her tears kept falling.

Scotty was on the intercom to the _Enterprise_ , advising of Spock’s injuries and their need for haste. The _Enterprise_ , which had been lurking behind a nearby moon to avoid detection by starships coming and going from the planet immediately leapt into action to come and collect them, shaving a few minutes off their journey. Dr McCoy was there as soon as the _Galileo’s_ door swung upwards, a team of Medical personnel and a hover stretcher ready and waiting. Spock was scooped up and carefully deposited on it belly-down, McCoy already barking instructions at his team as they began wheeling the Vulcan out of the shuttle bay.

Sulu was there too. The Acting Captain took one look at Uhura’s tear-streaked face and told her to get down to Sickbay - Kirk and Scotty could handle the report. She nodded mutely and walked away.

Kirk was on autopilot. It was a good thing that he wasn’t Captain at the moment, because he was definitely emotionally compromised. He wanted to be down in Sickbay too. And though it was mostly for Spock, there was also a part of him that knew he should be there for Uhura. He wanted to be her shoulder to lean on, as much as he wanted to lean on her in turn.

Scotty did most of the talking. Kirk let the words wash over him, not really listening. He trailed along after Scotty and Sulu as they hurried to the bridge. There were already hauling constitution class ass away from the Orion’s planet, on alert in case of pursuit. Sulu asked for his opinion once or twice, but Kirk mostly just answered with a distracted “Uh huh.”

Finally, just as they were about to step into the turbolift, Sulu turned to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Jim … look, how about you go down to Medical and check up on Spock? You seem kinda out of things. Scotty and I can finish up.”

“Yeah,” Kirk blinked, so distracted that it took a moment for Sulu’s words to think in. “ _Yeah?_ Yeah, okay. Thanks.”

He clapped both men on the shoulder quickly and jogged away, with not another thought to spare for either of them. All he could think about was getting down to Sickbay and finding out _what was happening with Spock?_

The doors to Sickbay _hissed_ as Kirk hurried through them, his eyes already scanning the room. He spied Dr McCoy’s broad back, standing with a number of his medical team, looking at something that Kirk couldn’t see … Kirk hurried up to his friend, reaching out to touch him on his shoulder, his mouth opening to ask him ….

The next moment he had totally forgotten what he was going to say. Because there, in Sickbay, right in front of Dr McCoy and half a dozen Medical Personnel, many of whom were beaming like idiots despite making it very clear that they were _not looking,_ Spock and Uhura were in each others arms, kissing like a pair of star-crossed lovers in a hot and heavy romance novel. Except that Uhura was still in his body.

Kirk just stared. Uhura was half standing beside/half lying across Spock in the bed, her Vulcan lover cradled in Kirk’s own muscular arms, being exceptionally careful to touch only his shoulders and not his back. Both had their eyes closed, their faces tilted just so. Uhura-in-Kirk’s-body was all gold, Spock all black and white and pale, pale green, and they looked … they looked …

As Kirk watched, dumbstruck, one of Spock’s long, elegant hands slid up the back of Uhura’s - no, _his_ \- neck and tangled in her - _his_ \- golden curls.

It was by far the most surreal thing that had happened since the transporter accident, perhaps even more so that Spock actually kissing _him,_ because it was like one of his secret dreams playing out right in front of him.

“Shut your mouth, Jimmy boy, before you start catching flies.”

Kirk started out of his trance; glanced into the twinkling eyes of Dr McCoy. His mouth snapped shut. He opened it again a moment later, but McCoy held up a hand to stop him.

“All things considered, it’s not so bad. Apparently it isn’t just a metaphor for stubbornness to say that Vulcans are hard-headed. Spock isn’t currently showin’ any signs of concussion, and that little cut shouldn’t leave a scar. Give it a month, at most, and you’ll never be able to tell it was there. There’s a good-sized phaser burn on his back, but it didn’t penetrate too deeply, and accordin’ to our Vulcan there all he needs is 12 hours or so of Vulcan mind voodoo - he called it a ‘healin’ trance’ - and he’ll be more or less right as rain. It looks like he’s gonna be an even more difficult patient than you are - he wants to refuse treatment, and he’s insistent that he doesn’t need to stay in overnight for observation, and wants to go back to his quarters.”

“So …” Kirk’s brain was still trying to catch up, and he was intensely distracted by the way Spock and Uhura were finally parting lips, her hand coming up to lovingly stroke a finger down his face. “... he’s alright?”

McCoy snorted, shaking his head. _”Yes,_ Jim. Your Vulcan’s fine. Now, try not to get in the way, will you?” 

Kirk gaped after his friend as McCoy walked away to check on one of his other patients. Eventually, he gave himself a little shake, and went over to check on Spock himself.

The Vulcan didn’t smile when he caught sight of Kirk walking towards him, but his eyes definitely got brighter. Uhura helped Spock sit properly upright, fussing and fretting over the dressings on his back.”

”Bones says you don’t have to worry about a scar from-” Kirk gestured to his own eyebrow. He felt kind of awkward, and a little hot under the collar. After what Uhura had said earlier, and the fact of what he had just seen … he just didn’t know what to think. A lot of assumptions of his had been challenged today …

“That is most satisfactory news,” Spock said. The tone of his voice held its usual somber quality, but somehow the Vulcan sounded happy. “I should have found such a scar quite aesthetically displeasing.”

Kirk nodded awkward agreement. He wanted to reach out and take Spock’s hand, give it a reassuring squeeze the way that Spock had done for him so very recently … but Uhura was right there, and he didn’t know what she would think - or what Spock would think, come to think of it - and it made him hesitant. He clenched and unclenched his fingers into a fist indecisively at his side … before finally deciding: _to hell with it_. He’d never lived life uncertainly, and he sure as well wasn’t going to start now.

He reached out, grasped Spock’s hand quickly, clapping the Vulcan on the shoulder at the same time as he gave those long, elegant digits a little squeeze. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he told his first officer earnestly. The tip of Spock’s uninjured eyebrow twitched, and his mouth started to open, as if he were going to say something, but Kirk had already let his hand go, turning to face Uhura instead. She looked surprised - and became even more so when Kirk likewise clapped her on the shoulders, with both hands this time. “Don’t let him thwart Bones too much,” he told her, forcing his voice to be bright and cheerful. “Knowing him, he’ll probably take it out on me.”

He felt both of their eyes on his back as he turned and walked away - or maybe it was just his imagination. What he really needed right now was some time to be alone - to think. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **To Be Continued ...**


	6. Kirk and Spock ride the angst-a-coaster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, it was my aim to try and make somebody groan aloud in frustration at the pair of idiots, but I think I may have over done it. Oops.
> 
> Oh, and, once again, I must apologise for the lack of sex in this chapter.

Kirk lay on his bed, his hands folded beneath his head, staring at the plain grey ceiling above him. He was tired. From the Sickbay he had headed straight to the observation deck, a favourite haunt of his, more so than any of the Rec Rooms, and had spent several hours sitting there in quiet contemplation. For once, though, his eyes did not see the myriad of sparkling stars that they were passing through, like a handful of diamonds tossed carelessly aside to scatter across the infinite midnight vaults of the heavens. Rather, his thoughts were turned inward, his mind’s eye focused on the image vividly seared there, of his own body wrapped oh-so-lovingly around Spock, his own lips locked with those of the Vulcan, while Uhura’s voice played over and over in his head, as it had done all day:

_Spock has feelings for someone else. I’m sorry it took me so long to see what it is he saw in you._

Finally, hours later, the weary ache in his limbs and the persistent growl in his stomach had driven him from the observation deck, and though he had stopped at one of the rec rooms to use the synthesizer, he barely managed three spoonfuls of his steaming chicken soup before pushing it away with a sigh. Having thus disposed of his uneaten dinner, he had returned here, to his quarters, to lie and stare at the ceiling.

It was not just the image of Spock and Uhura-in-his-body locked in passionate embrace that stopped him from finding repose. Everything that had happened since that _fucked up_ transporter accident kept replaying over and over in his head. The feeling of being swept up in Spock’s arms, his mouth being positively _ravaged_ by the alien’s unexpected passion. The contrasting sweet, gentle press of Uhura’s lips against his own. The heartbreakingly beautiful melody that Spock had played for him and the way the Vulcan’s big, brown eyes had looked as he beheld Kirk when he was finished. The sound of his own laugh loud in his ears as he and Uhura had sparred, parrying back and forth with words as much as they were with blows.

And things from before the transporter accident too. Uhura’s _own_ laughter the night they had first met, such an unbelievably intelligent woman, still amused by his dumb joke. Spock, his protective suit still steaming with heat, his voice heavy with perplexed accusation as he protested their having broken the first commandment of space exploration - obey the Prime Directive - while Kirk was too relieved to have him standing alive and well in the transporter room to feel anything but overwhelming adoration. The bright, bright red of Uhura’s cadet uniform skirt as it slid down her thighs, revealing all that beautiful, brown, silky skin, all those years ago in the Starfleet dorm room, as he peered up at her, hopelessly, breathlessly enthralled from under Gaila’s bed. Spock’s hand pressed against the glass, their fingers touching, but for the thick, cold, pellucid barrier between them, the last thing he saw before the world went dark.

Kirk closed his eyes, let out a deep sigh. Things had been bad enough when he couldn’t get pointed ears and those _impossibly sexy goddam eyebrows_ out of his mind, but now … 

Well, now, if Uhura were to be believed, maybe those eyebrows might actually be within his reach - and, more importantly, so too the enigmatic half-Vulcan to whom they were attached. The fact that Spock had clearly been willing to kiss Uhura in Kirk’s body had upended most of Kirk’s belief of the Vulcan’s lack of attraction to him physically - _or was it just that he loved Uhura enough to overcome it? What if she was wrong?_

And even if she was _right_ where did that leave Kirk? Even if Spock _did_ have some kind of secret crush on him, what of it? In spite of his recent conversations with both of them as to the rocky state of their relationship, Kirk didn’t believe that this was little more than a small bump in the road. He had _seen_ them this afternoon. You couldn’t tell him that wasn’t love …

And yet, Uhura had kissed him. She had kissed him _knowingly,_ not like Spock, who had only done so because he was under the mistaken belief that Kirk was her. What the _fuck_ did that mean? And why, _why_ was she doing this now, when he’d spent years chasing after her (albeit, not letting that stop him from having fun with other people), only to concede that she _really_ wasn’t interested when he learned she was with Spock? _Now_ she wanted to kiss him?

Kirk sighed again, pinching at the bridge of his nose where a headache was building. He was no good at this shit. Sex, sure, he was fucking _brilliant_ when it came to sex. Ask anyone. But love? No, he always found a way to majorly fuck it up _every. single. time._ Fall for the wrong sort of people? Yep. Fucking Janice. He still had nightmares about her occasionally. Fall for the right sort of people, but only if they were unavailable? Yep. Fall for his best friend, _and_ his best friend’s girlfriend at the same time? Yep.

_Well fucking done, Kirk!_

He was interrupted from his increasingly bitter musings by the buzz of the door. Heaving another dramatic sigh - _who could it be now? Having completed his mission to get the transporter part he was, technically speaking, back on medical leave once more_ \- he sat up and pressed the button above the bed to open the door. “Come in,” he called exasperatedly.

The door slid back with a _hiss_ to reveal … Spock. The Vulcan seemed a little paler than usual, and there were dark green circles beneath his eyes, but there he was, standing awkwardly in Kirk’s doorway, almost as if he was hesitant to step through. There was a neat little adhesive bandage covering the cut on his eyebrow.

“Spock?” Kirk was on his feet in a heartbeat, wondering what the Vulcan was doing out of Sickbay. Surely Dr McCoy would have kept him in for the night? “What’re you doing here?”

“Dr McCoy and I came to an agreement - I would stop protesting and critiquing his treatment of me, and he would not insist that I remain overnight for observation.” Kirk’s first officer rolled his shoulders cautiously as he entered the room. “Do not tell Dr McCoy, but I must admit that his regenerator treatment has been very effective. The skin on my back is still new and rather tender, but the rate of healing has been accelerated exponentially, and I expect to be sufficiently well as to resume my duties within the next 72 hours.”

“That soon, huh?” Kirk sank back down to sit on the end of the bed as Spock came to a halt, now fully into his cabin. The Vulcan made to clasp his hands behind his back, as was his habit, but stopped abruptly and left them hanging at his sides instead. If it had been anybody else, Kirk would have expected an exaggerated wince from the movement of his shoulders pulling at the sensitive new skin on his back.

“Jim … “ Spock seemed nervous. Kirk knew him well enough to recognise the signs. Whenever he was anxious his first officer somehow managed to make that ramrod spine just that little bit straighter - he held himself more stiffly, his head still and his gaze focused straight ahead, his chin lifted, despite the fact that, with his impressive height, this left his gaze focused well above the head of whomever he was talking to. 

_Was this because of what Kirk had done in the Sickbay?_

“Spock …” Kirk spent a moment helplessly searching for words. “Look, come in and sit down, would you? I feel like you’re standing at attention, waiting for me to chew you out or something.”

The Vulcan blinked, curiously puzzled by the unfamiliar figure of speech. He did sit, however, sinking down onto the chair at Kirk’s computer terminal with something a little less than his usual grace. He adjusted himself stiffly, his eyes dark and unfathomable and - yet again - totally unreadable as he gazed at Kirk. Kirk gazed back.

Finally, Spock shifted, dropping his gaze. “Jim,” he started again. “I came here to apologise to you. What I am about to say - it is difficult for me to admit.” Kirk’s ears pricked up at this … _was Spock … was he going to …?_

“You must understand, I would never intentionally violate the privacy of your mind. It is difficult for me, however, to be entirely in control of my telepathy during physical contact with yourself. Your thoughts are very … insistent … Jim. Some might even describe them as ‘loud’. This sort of accidental transference is exactly why Vulcans do their utmost to prevent touching other sentient beings unless they deliberately wish to communicate mind-to-mind or are intimately familiar with, and have the express permission of, the other party …”

Spock, apparently realising he was rambling, trailed off, pausing for a moment to gather his thoughts. Kirk, on the other hand, seemed to have forgotten to breathe.

_Spock … read something in my mind? Oh god! What did he read?_

The Vulcan drew in a breath and resumed his speech. “When you grasped my hand earlier in Sickbay, I read your shock at having seen Nyota and I in such a compromising position. I am deeply ashamed that I did not consider the effect that my actions would have on you - to see me be so … to see Nyota and I take such liberties with your body must have been extremely distressing to you. I - I know that I have done many unpardonable things to you in the past 10.23 days since your transporter accident. When I took a hold of your hand in Sickbay, when you were suffering the allergic reaction to alien spirits you had consumed, and when I -” Spock’s nostrils flared as he drew in a deep breath - “when I _kissed_ you, an unforgivable violation of your person, for which there are no words to express how deeply I regret my actions-”

_Wait, what?!_ Kirk’s mind seemed to have been hacked again. His thoughts were frozen, fractured, being splintered apart by such terrible words. _Unforgivable violation?_

“- I could feel your astonishment at my actions. I wish, however, to assure you that I am willing to go to any lengths to make amends for my transgressions. I cherish the bond that you and I have shared, and it is my deepest desire to preserve it.”

“Woah, woah, Spock, _calm down …”_ Kirk held up his hands, still reeling himself. _Unforgivable violation?_ His eyes narrowed as he looked the Vulcan sitting across from him over more thoroughly, noting the dilation of pupils in the brown eyes that were focussed on him with something that he could only describe as ‘burning intensity’.

“Bones really tanked you up on painkillers, huh?” Kirk sighed again. “Okay. Let me get this straight … you think that I … what? That I feel violated that you kissed me? That I don’t want to be your friend any more? Spock, I …” Kirk swallowed. _Where was this coming from? And how the hell did he answer without fucking things up even more?_

“Spock.” Kirk put on his best ‘listen-to-me-I’m-the-captain’ voice. “I don’t know what you think you saw in my mind. But I’m telling you now, I _do not_ feel like you have anything to apologise for.” Kirk exhaled slowly through his nose. “Run that by me again. I touched your hand and … what? … shouted my thoughts too loudly at you for you to ignore?”

Spock licked his lips, a curiously human gesture that Kirk couldn’t remember ever seeing him make before. His eyes had widened at Kirk’s pronouncement, and if they had been burning before, they were _blazing_ now. Kirk wondered idly if maybe he should check the Vulcan for a fever…

“That is an … adequate summation. I experienced guilt after I had kissed you in the science lab - when I reached out to you, mind-to-mind, believing you to be Nyota, I encountered your shock and disbelief at the situation. Your mind seemed curiously paralysed. I can only suppose that it was a symptom of such a traumatic assault upon your person. I myself was initially too stunned and focussed on the situation at hand to fully reflect upon the implications of the encounter until later - whereupon I came to realise the true severity of what I had done. I experienced …fear. I was afraid that I might have irreparably damaged the friendship that existed between us.”

“Then, however, you sought me out, and assured me that you found solace in conversation with me. I experienced profound relief and … and ... a great deal of confusion. Just a short time later, you were taken ill, and I had to rush you to Medical. In my confused emotional state, I sought to offer you comfort in as human a form as I knew how - I took hold of your hand. I believe that I also was acting under an irrational mis allusion that by doing so I was somehow strengthening the bond between your _katra_ \- what humans would term a ‘soul’ - and your physical form, which would I - again, irrationally- believed make it less likely that you would die. I read your startlement at my actions once more - and, to my utmost shame, your pain from the strength that, in my lapse, I had applied to you. There was a moment before our skin parted contact where I thought I had sensed your regret at my having let you go, but I am now convinced that it was but further evidence of my irrationality - my mind striving for a way to alleviate my guilt.”

“This evening, when _you_ reached out to take _my_ hand … I once again experienced, to borrow a human term, your mind reeling from what you had seen. I instantly regretted having caused you such emotional turmoil - but I did not initially understand just how severe that trauma might have been. After you left, Nyota and I - she laid her hand upon my arm, and the sensations of guilt that _her_ mind was projecting alerted me to my mistake. I would have sought you out sooner - but Dr McCoy threatened to have me anesthetized if I did not consent to remaining to undergo the regeneration treatment.”

Kirk blinked. He licked his lips slowly. _Now_ his mind was reeling. He wished for Spock’s eidetic memory - there was too much to absorb. Everything the Vulcan had said was so … convoluted. None of it made a lick of sense - at least, not to Kirk.

“I think,” he said slowly, hesitantly, “that’s there’s been quite a few misunderstandings between us recently.” He weighed every word carefully before he spoke it aloud, terrified of slipping off the knife’s edge of saying the wrong thing. “Did you … talk to Uhura about why she was feeling so guilty?” _I doubt it was because I saw the two of you kissing …_

Spock shook his head, a distinctly un-Vulcan gesture. “No. Once Dr McCoy had performed the procedure, I was informed that she had returned to her quarters, apparently fatigued.”

“Right.” Kirk took a deep breath. _To hell with it._ This had gone on long enough. Things couldn’t get any more fucked up then they already were. Better to lose Spock then to have him suffering under the misapprehension that he had _violated_ Kirk. That word … the thought that Spock thought that _he,_ who was so … so … _ugh._ The thought that Spock could think that _he_ was capable of such a thing was too much to bear. It made Kirk sick to his stomach, and left a cold, bitter, metallic taste in his mouth. Spock _had_ to be set right - _now._

Kirk clenched clammy hands in the soft fabric of his regulation trousers, hyper-aware of the feel of them against his palms. Just because he felt that circumstances had forced his hand, it didn’t mean that this was suddenly easy to do. This was a secret that he had kept from Spock - from everybody- for so, _so_ long. Every fibre of his being was _screaming_ at him that bad things would follow if he spilled it.

He exhaled slowly through his nose.

“Spock - there’s something I have to tell you. I want you to listen to me, and not say anything until I’m finished, okay? That’s an order.”

His first cocked his head, nodding just once. He didn’t point out that, at the present time, his friend technically didn’t hold any authority over him. Kirk didn’t bother trying to read the expression on his expressionless face. Instead, he dropped his gaze to the floor.

“When you read my mind - _which I understand you didn’t mean to do, I don’t hold it against you at all_ \- I am sure I was just as shocked as you have said. But Spock …” Kirk sighed. “This isn’t easy to explain. I was shocked, _but in a good way._ That first time, when you kissed me …” Kirk shook his head, as if to rattle loose the thoughts that were clinging and tangling together in there, tying up his tongue.

He took another deep breath. _The moment of truth._

“I … am in love with you, Spock. I have been for a very long time. When you kissed me like that - that’s what we humans refer to as ‘mind-blowing’. Maybe my brain _was_ paralysed, but it was from joy, not trauma.”

Kirk closed his eyes, feeling the first hints if dampness building there. He swallowed around the lump that had appeared in his throat, willing his voice to remain steady.

“I understand if this changes things between us - if you can’t be friends with me anymore. But I need you to know that I love you, and I never once, not for a single iota of a second, felt violated by any action of yours. I couldn’t live with myself knowing that you were going through life thinking such a … such a _fucked up_ thing.”

There was a long moment of silence. Kirk, trying to ignore the steadily increasing prickling feeling against the back of his eyelids, found himself straining to catch even the smallest noise from Spock. Something, _anything_ , to let him know his little speech had been received. He was reckoned to be a brave man - often to the point of recklessness- but he had spent all his courage in making his confession. He had none left with which to force his eyes to open and look.

Finally, a soft rustling of cloth. Kirk didn’t hear the footfall that brought Spock over to him. His breath hitched at the first, feather-light touch of the Vulcan’s fingertips against his cheek.

“Jim. _Jim_. Look at me.”

Kirk opened his eyes. Spock was kneeling on the ground in front of him where he sat on the end of his bed, gazing up at him with eyes that were suspiciously bright and damp looking. The Vulcan seemed more alert than before, like he had pulled himself together from his previous state of drifting on a haze of painkillers - or like he had had a shock. Or perhaps a revelation. His arm was outstretched, hand hovering over Kirk’s cheek, as if he wished to cup it, but didn’t quite dare to, his fingertips just barely brushing the human’s skin.

“Did you mean it?” Spock asked, and there was something in his voice, some low, breathy sense of urgency that kept Kirk’s heart racing. Spock’s eyes were boring holes in him, intense as laser beams. “What you just said … that you loved me? _Did you mean it?”_

And like that, Kirk’s heart plummeted. He blinked. “Of course I did.” He couldn’t keep the note of hurt out of his voice. He hadn’t dared to think how Spock might reply … but whatever he might have expected, it certainly wouldn’t have been this. _He had just bared his soul and confessed his love and Spock …._ Spock didn’t believe him? _Did he really think Kirk was that much of a slut, that he couldn’t tell when he was in love, or that he would lie about it…_

“No!”

Kirk’s world spun as Spock seized his arm and yanked him down, into the Vulcan’s lap. Strong, alien arms enfolded him, pinned him, held him tight. His face was pressed awkwardly against Spock’s shoulder, the rest of him sprawled haphazardly across his First Officer’s thighs. Spock was closer to having a melt down than Kirk had seen him for a long time, words spilling out of his mouth in a stricken jumble: _“I am sorry, forgive me …”_

“Spock.” Kirk’s voice came out as little more than a whisper. His right arm was utterly pinned between them, but he reached out with the left, placing a hand on the Vulcan’s bicep, mindful to keep his hands away from his injured back.

“I didn’t mean it,” Spock told him, equally breathless. The alien’s stern mask was in danger of crumbling, his mouth twisting with distress. The sight of it tore at Kirk’s heart anew. “I would never - _Jim_ , please, I-”

“It’s okay.” Kirk was feeling more than a little bit bewildered - it was like the drugs in his system had placed Spock on an emotional rollercoaster, and the captain had been dragged along for the ride, complete with all it’s heartache. Even in such circumstances, though, Kirk was one of Starfleet’s best and brightest. He excelled at thinking on his feet, at never losing his head, no matter the situation, at being three steps ahead of (most) opponents …

“You read my thoughts again, didn’t you, Spock?” he asked, a sinking feeling in his stomach. _It was bad enough that he had to put up with all the fucked up shit that was in his head, without subjecting anyone else to it as well …_

“Forgive me,” the Vulcan begged sorrowfully. His eyes were wild, desperate, reminding Kirk vividly of the time that he had baited Spock on the bridge and the alien had responded by trying to strangle him -- though, this time, Spock did not look angry, but rather like he might start crying instead. “I would never - _could never_ \- think such a thing of you! You must believe me.” On the verge of breaking into tears - something he had not done since he was a child, not even in the aftermath of the shocking death of his mother - Spock clenched his eyes shut and buried his face against the top of Kirk’s head.

Kirk took a deep breath, deliberately let it slowly out again. He knew that sometimes he kept things bottled up inside, and knew that - logically - Spock did too. How else could one explain the two of them - grown men, galactic heroes, veterans of starship dogfights and down-and-dirty brawls alike - sitting weeping on the floor? Spock made a noise into his hair that he thought might have been agreement .. until the Vulcan lifted his head, apparently having regained some semblance of decorum and stated: “I am _not_ weeping.”

“Course not,” Kirk agreed, a familiar surge of affection adding itself to the churning morass of emotions bubbling around inside him. It was a miracle he hadn’t exploded yet. He reached up to wipe the moisture away from beneath Spock’s increasingly green-rimmed eye with his thumb. Hesitantly, expecting the Vulcan to pull away at any second, he cupped Spock’s face with his hand. “But, yes, I did mean it.”

To his incredible surprise, Spock actually closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. He could feel the soft sigh that rumbled through the Vulcan’s chest. His astonishment grew when his first placed his own elegant hand over Kirk’s and turned his head to kiss Kirk’s palm.

The captain’s heart pounded in his chest as he watched Spock’s eyelids open, long dark lashes catching the light. He felt … detached, like he couldn’t have possibly just witnessed Spock - _Spock_ kiss his hand. And yet, the image of it seemed burned into his brain. He imagined he could still _feel_ , phantom-like, the soft, satiny touch of his lips.

“Did you …?” Kirk’s voice had gone comically squeaky. “Did you just kiss me? You didn’t … did you?”

Spock raised an eyebrow, a fond smile twitching around the corners of his mouth. “I did,” he confirmed. “And, with your permission, I am going to do it again.”

Kirk didn’t even have time to open his mouth to say “Yeah?” Luckily, he didn’t need to. He let his eyes flutter closed as the Vulcan leaned in to capture his mouth, pressing against his lips with a warm, insistent tongue. The captain eagerly opened his mouth for that tongue to slip inside. Spock’s hands had slipped around to clasp the back of Kirk’s head, his long fingers tangling in Kirk’s borrowed hair. At the touch of those long, brown silky strands against his hand, Spock made a displeased noise deep in his throat. Kirk barely had time to register it, certainly did not have time to react, before … 

It was hard to explain. It was like the room melted away. The only time Kirk had ever experienced something like this before was in the science lab, when Spock had kissed him the first time. He had felt the Vulcan in his head then, a comfortable sensation of pressure against his own thoughts, seeking entry. But Spock was all the way in now, entwined throughout Kirk’s conscious, wrapped around and enveloping him like a soft, warm mental eiderdown.

Kirk blinked. He looked down at … himself. At his _own_ body, hard and muscled and _male_ , encased in creamy golden skin. He was naked. Spock stood before him, stripped to the waist, his long legs wrapped in loose fitting black pants that rode low on his hips. The bags beneath his eyes were gone, his eyes were bright and he just … just seemed to glow.

“That’s better,” the Vulcan murmured softly, stepping forward to pull Kirk into his arms. His bare skin was deliciously warm against Kirk’s, soft and silky and just a little scratchy where his chest hair tickled against Kirk. He even _smelled_ warm. Spock brought his hand up to cup Kirk’s chin, tilting the shorter man’s face towards him, gazing down on Kirk with more emotion on his face and dancing in his eyes than the captain had ever seen before.

“Where are we?” Kirk asked softly. “And why do _you_ have pants, but _I_ don’t?”

Spock cocked his head to the side. “We are within our own minds, Jim. These are mental projections of ourselves.” Kirk looked around. He couldn’t quite identify what he was standing on - there was no discernible floor. The air around them swirled faintly, green and blue and gold. “I could envision a more detailed backdrop for us if you wish,” Spock turned Kirk’s face back towards him. “I have brought us here, into my mind, in order that I might see your eyes. It was … dissatisfying … to finally have you as I have wanted you for so long, and to have you look so different. You are … the most amazing work of art, Jim.

Kirk flushed, his cheeks burning. He felt weak at the knees, and was glad of the Vulcan’s strong arms around him, holding him up. He had been sweet talked before, plenty of times, but never like that. Sincerity burned in Spock’s every word.

“I did not consciously decide to divest you of all clothing. I believe that is a manifestation of the maximal desire that I feel for you. If it would make you more comfortable-” Kirk saw the roguish sparkle in Spock’s eye. “- I could remove my clothing too.”

“Ooh,” Kirk replied, before his lips were captured in another kiss. He closed his eyes and positively _melted_ in Spock’s arms, his hands sliding down, wandering over his leanly muscled torso, stroking and stroking until he found the oddly placed beat of the Vulcan’s heart, thumping rhythmic and strong against his palm. Spock’s hands were likewise exploring him, mapping every hollowed plane and swell of muscle, leaving a trail of tickling fire in their wake. Spock found that sensitive place on the small of his back, making him shudder, and the Vulcan hummed contentedly into his mouth. One long, dexterous digit stroked up and down that spot, Kirk’s skin shivering up into goosebumps beneath its touch, before dipping down towards the cleft of his buttocks. Kirk gasped as that finger became a hand, firm and caressing on the taut curve of his rear. Spock unlocked their lips to press a trail of small, fiery kisses along Kirk’s jaw, his deep voice low and husky when he said: “I love you too, Jim. I have done so for quite some time.”

Kirk arched his back, moaning sweetly as the Vulcan resumed his line of kisses, down the proud column of the captain’s neck, lingering against his pulse. Kirk’s fingers dug hard into the rigid strength of Spock’s back, his head falling back …”

This was … this was everything he’d ever wanted. It was a dream come true. _Maybe he should pinch himself, just to make sure he_ wasn’t _dreaming?_ But then again, his dreams had never really been this clear. Perhaps, on the very rare occasion, but mostly they turned strange, with dancing Klingons in the background, or Sulu and Chekov singing the Russian national anthem, or Spock turning into Uhura …

Oh shit.

“Wait, Spock, wait,” Kirk begged, as the Vulcan’s head moved down his torso, lavishing kisses on his captain’s golden skin. The alien stilled immediately, the swirling world around them shivering. Kirk blinked. He found himself flat on his bed, Spock on top of him, pressing him deep into the mattress with an unexpected but reassuring weight. His fingers were tangled in the Vulcan’s silky, black bowl cut, his legs spread shamelessly wide and wrapped around Spock’s hips. He could feel Uhura’s breasts pressed between their bodies, her nipples achingly hard, lancing into the the Vulcan’s chest with as much force as a photon torpedo.

There was a fire between his legs. He could feel - _oh god!_ \- he could _feel_ Spock against him, scaldingly hot, his black regulation trousers stretched to breaking point to contain his burgeoning erection. Had he been in his own body, Kirk would have relished pressing his own swollen flesh against it, rubbing and grinding and delighting in the delicious, delicious friction. As it was, he could feel his borrowed lady bits heating. His clothing was moist - he could feel it against his skin. _Waves_ of arousal were radiating out from between his legs, leaving him desperate and quaking with lust.

It was all he could do to suppress the pleading whine growing in his throat and say instead: “You have a girlfriend.”

Spock sat up, kneeling on the bed between Kirk’s splayed legs. At first his eyes were curiously blank, as if his mind were struggling to understand the meaning of Kirk’s words. The captain saw the dawning horror and shame in their chocolate depths, before Spock scrunched them shut, turning his face away.

Kirk pulled himself up into a sitting position. He wasn’t sure what to say, what to do. Everything had happened so very quickly, almost as if he and Spock had been going at warp drive. But they were slowing down now, dropping out of warp, the enormity of the confessions each had just made catching up with them.

His own stomach was felt like he had swallowed lead, as he contemplated how close he had come to betraying two of the most important people in his life. _When would he ever learn to_ think? _And if that was the level of guilt that he felt, then how about Spock?_

Spock visibly shuddered, drawing in a great lungful of air. He brought one hand up to his face, sinking his teeth into his crooked finger in a gesture of distress that Kirk had never seen him make before. His heart ached for his friend.

“I do,” the Vulcan finally said. “And after much recent deliberation on the matter, I have concluded that I love both of you equally.” His eyes opened again, seeking out Kirk’s gaze, and it tore the captain’s heart to see the dampness there. “ _Jim_ …. I do not know what to do.”

Kirk reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder. The fabric of Spock’s uniform caught and scrunched beneath his hand.

“Spock,” he said. “There’s something else I should probably tell you.”

**_To Be Continued …_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot remember which episode it was, but there is a scene in TOS where Spock is ... eavesdropping on Kirk, I think? ... and getting all worried, and he bites down on his finger. If anyone knows the episode I mean, please let me know :) 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Please be assured Uhura will have more to say in the rest of the story (she was very quiet, wasn't she?). Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated.


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